A Story of Shattered Innocence
by zombiewithapainkiller
Summary: A nine-year-old girl is kidnapped by Team Rocket due to her mother's involvement with Giovanni's case to obtain the Viridian City gym. Team Rocket's plan is to sell the girl on the human-trafficking trade for easy cash; she would rather join up and tear them down from the inside out. She doesn't realise they're good at breaking the cutie. OC main character. M for dark/adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer to beat all the disclaimers evah. I don't own Pokemon. Honestly, I'm sure there are plenty of people who are happy for that.**

* * *

Her scream was loud enough to shatter glass, but the man holding her didn't seem to falter from it. Her kicking didn't phase him, her struggles didn't make him utter a single grunt. She only stilled when she felt metal make contact with her temple, cold and heartless. "Move or make a sound and you die, girl," the man behind her hissed. Another man, clad in black with a blood-red R upon his chest walked forward and placed a cloth against her head, tying it tightly behind her head. She squeaked. He tied her hands behind her back soon after and she whimpered softly, scared of the metal still pressed to her temple, scared that it would harm her. Suddenly, the floor left her and she was held by her waist until she was thrown, unceremoniously, into a the back seat of a car. She whimpered as metal scraped metal and the car started with a short complaint from the engine.

"Stealing nine-year-olds," a man in the front scoffed idly. It scared the young girl in the back seat that he knew anything about her, no less her age. She pressed her face into the leather seat, sobbing against it. Her only comfort.

* * *

At that very moment, the child's mother was so close to breaking through his secret she could almost smell his anxiety like the sleeping Arcanine on her office floor, despite the fact the in-consideration gym leader for Viridian City was currently a few thousand kilometers from where she sat. The thirty year old man, Giovanni Sakaki, had bottled his past up tighter than a nuclear bomb, showing nothing but good: a graduation from high school with top scores, a double-major university degree via scholarship in finance and business/management, more charitable event showings than most of the other gym leaders in Kanto, _combined, _including pouring over twenty-five million Pokeyen into orphanages and Pokemon Centers across the region; not even his tax reports had anything odd in them, they matched up exactly to his business, Sakaki Corporation's, reports. He was so clean, the thirty-three year old woman had taken it upon herself to look into his history and had been one of the only officers in the International Police's Department of Leaders to deny him access to the Viridian City gym keys. Her superiours were getting awfully sick of waiting for her report to come in and her unwavering suspicion to die down; the small gym had been without a leader for months and antsy challengers were beginning to send in angry letters that they had to sift through.

But the truth was, she was ever so close. It had only been a few days, but a business transaction fell through between Sakaki and the owner of a popular chain of Pokemon Markets in the region for somewhat unknown regions. The woman had jumped on the opportunity, she had seized it. Unlike all other businessmen who had dealt with Sakaki, this man had nothing but bitterness in his tongue. The two had agreed the thirty-year old entrepreneur was too clean and too sharp. During that interaction, it was told that one of Sakaki's ingredients in a Pokemon medicine was illegal, although he had renamed it to make it sound cleaner than it was. The man had slipped up and for once, she wasn't going to let him weasel his way out. Apparently, the Pokemart CEO wasn't quite willing to let him, either. It was one lead, but it was enough to get her foot in the door and press for a search warrant of Sakaki Corporation. The building itself would likely be clean, but what Sakaki didn't have to know was the search wouldn't be for the ingredient in his medicine but for more leads to what he was really doing under his clean facade. She knew if they could just get into that one building, a whole web of lies would untwist.

She looked over his files again on the laptop in her lap. He got away with so much, she felt, due to his charming looks. He was most definitely attractive, his smile revealed no hidden darkness. He was never seen without a three-piece suit, though she felt that was more out of arrogance. She flipped over to a document, beginning to peck away at the keys on her keyboard to request a search warrant on him. _Maybe I'll be able to go home early today,_ she smiled, typing quicker.

A black box popped up on her screen, obscuring her text and reading, in crimson letters, '_SHOULDN'T YOU BE AT HOME WITH YOUR DAUGHTER?_' She grimaced, clicking the 'X' in the corner to make it go away. It made her heart skip a beat, but it was harmless. A prank played on her by a coworker, nothing more. She kept typing. It was only ten seconds later when hundreds of the pop-ups spammed her screen, accompanied with emblazoned red R's. '_SHOULDN'T YOU BE AT HOME WITH YOUR DAUGHTER?_ _SHOULDN'T YOU BE AT HOME WITH YOUR DAUGHTER? __SHOULDN'T YOU BE AT HOME WITH YOUR DAUGHTER? __SHOULDN'T YOU BE AT HOME WITH YOUR DAUGHTER?_' She stood up, sending the laptop crashing to the floor, cracking the screen. The sleeping Arcanine looked up immediately from the loud thud. She ran out of the room with the canine close at her heels.

* * *

Another loud scream as she was thrown into a cold, stone floor. Her surroundings had gone from cigarette smoke from her kidnappers to clean, fresh air and then to a horrible smell she could only identify as disease and her Meowth's litter box. She didn't even have time to wretch at the horrible smell before a hand grabbed her by her tied wrist and pulled her up forcefully. The ropes were untied and the blindfold removed, and she recoiled from fear from the man's face being mere centimeters away from hers, his grin twisted and his eyes dark. She looked past him and gasped, her eyes widening as she saw she was in what looked like a prison. Metal bars went from floor to ceiling, too close together for even a cat to slip through. Without thinking she screeched, "where am I? Who are you?" The man laughed at the same tone of a screeching violin.

"You're in Rocket base, sweetie," he said, reaching out and touching her cheek. She gritted her teeth and jumped back. He responded by backhanding her with enough force to send her careening into the wall head-first. She screamed in agony. "If you're going to play like that, Odette," she cringed at his knowledge, "then I'll make sure you're fed to some Golbats. If you're nice, you'll get sold instead." He watched her curl up and shake in fear and he grinned. "Now, now, Odette," he hissed icily, "you're going to be kept here for quite a bit, due to some circumstances. You're never going to see your mommy again," she broke into loud sobs, "but don't worry. Hopefully," he walked to the door, "you'll get sold to a nice man. I doubt it." Another horrible laugh and she watched him slam the cell door shut and lock her away.

Odette pulled herself up, holding her bleeding cheek in her hand. The room was dark and dank, a place unlike anything she had seen or heard about except in horrible tales. _What did I do..? _she asked herself before pounding on the cell door and screaming, "what did I do?!" There was no answer. The man had disappeared without a trace. "What is... sold?" she asked quietly, choking on her own question. Could humans even be sold? She didn't even know Pokemon could be sold. She had heard some people would offer items of high value for special Pokemon, but never did she think even Pokemon could be sold.

She didn't see the man for days afterwards. Odette was weak with hunger and dehydration when he finally returned much later. He brought her some water, mentioning something about her dying would lose Team Rocket "a decent little fortune". He had stayed even after she finished the jug of water off, right outside her cell, watching her like an animal. She shivered, looking at him with fear in her eyes as he looked at her with the boredom of a zookeeper looking at a sleeping sloth.

"I... I..." she stuttered before falling silent, tears pricking at her eyes. "Wh-what did I do? What did I do to deserve... this?" She looked around as tears streamed down her face. She had spent much of the past few days remembering the moments before she had walked into her apartment flat, into the grip of a man she didn't recognise. She had walked home from school like usual with a friend. They had parted ways with anxiety about a test the next day, both promising the other they would study hard for it and compare notes the next day. Did her friend wonder where she had been? Did her teachers notice her absence was unusual for her? Was her mother working to find her? She had cried and beaten her fist into bruises, pounding against the cell doors as she shouted hundreds of questions to no one. But now, she was finding herself unable to ask questions to the creepy man with the twisted grin.

He laughed at her and she recoiled against the wall, trapped in a corner. "You didn't do anything. Blame your mommy, Odette. Your mommy did this to you." Her eyes widened and she shook her head, hair flying around her face. "Oh, but she _did,_" he promised, tapping his foot impatiently.

"N-no, she didn't!" Odette cried, but it was unsure, full of uncertainty. Her worldview had shattered. Bad things didn't happen to kids, she had told herself her entire life, though she knew from her mother that wasn't true at all. "She couldn't..." still uncertain. The violin-screech laughter echoed through the cell and she covered her ears.

"Believe what you want, kiddo. We're gonna fetch a high price for you," he purred, tapping the cells. "A little girl like you, with your pretty little orange hair, you'll go for a good price, people like girls like you." She shivered. His words felt like ice to her spine.

"...You can't sell a person," she murmured, only to be met with the ear-piercing howl of laughter from him. "You can't do that! Slavery doesn't exist!" Another cackle. She swallowed.

"Oh, slavery exists, child."

"N-no... I... I can't be sold, my mom's gonna find you if you put me for sale!" she barked, balling her fists. "See? You can't!" The older man laughed at her and she looked at the floor, broken. "What will they do to me if... if... if you get away with it?" she whispered softly.

Suddenly, the man looked more interested, licking his lips and opening the cell. She pressed herself against the corner harder, shivering violently. "Let me show you, then." She shook her head. "Oh, no, you can't back out now, you asked, Odette."

He grabbed her, pulling her up against the wall, his eyes looking over her body that she tried to cover up in shame. She screamed as he wrenched her school uniform away, tearing it off her violently. Scrambling to move, she turned, but was only met with hard hands that pushed her face into the wall and shoved her body upwards. A rip in her lip from her teeth filled her mouth with blood and she could only just see the blood on the wall, smeared from the scrapes on her forehead.

What the Rocket did next made her feel like she was going to be torn in two. Tears erupted from her eyes and her scream turned to silence. She saw only white and heard only blood in her ears. For the next few moments she swore she was being sawed in half; she grabbed at the stone wall covered in grime, scraping it in a feeble attempt to escape. Her nails cracked, broke and bled. As soon as she had been pushed up the wall she was dropped. With weak knees she fell to the floor, curling up and sobbing, shaking violently. She grabbed her head, digging fragments of nails into her scalp as she screamed. Screamed at what he'd done to her, screamed at herself for ever asking the question.

The man threw her uniform at her and closed her cell with a loud clash of metal on metal. "That is what your future is," he said, chuckling. "Maybe you'll get a nice man who will spend more time with you. Wouldn't that be nice?" She responded with sobs and he walked away. There was nothing in her mind except blood-covered walls and broken nails.

* * *

She saw the man everyday after that. It was always an unceremonious visit. He would stare at her with a bored look, Odette being in the darker corner of her cell while she would glare at him with blinding hatred, although _something_ had changed about his demeanor, but she wasn't sure what it was. He would open the door and throw her food in at her feet, then he would leave without a word exchanged between them; she had learned that asking questions led to bad things, things she never wanted to experience again. But between his visits, she would limp laps around the cell, still bruised from his assault, pondering her fate. Odette knew one thing: she would have to change her position. She knew escape was impossible; she had tried. Instead she began to think of how to convince the creepy man to do something. Anything. And she knew she only had so much time. The thought of asking her enemy to help clawed at her mind, but he was the only one who she ever saw. She had wondered if he ever got sick and would ever need a substitute to check in with her. She doubted it.

The other half of her time, she spent having nightmares and waking up in a fetal position, shaking violently and digging at her scalp until it bled. She would cry and scream and beg the air to tell her what she had done and if she was about to die and _why couldn't she breathe? _And just as soon as she would scream the question she would fall unconscious for a while until her body had enough air. She never knew how long she blacked out like that. Sometimes she would have food in her cell, and the thought of being unconscious while the creepy Rocket was there scared her into another fit.

He returned once more, and she kicked her consumables to the side, looking at him desperately. "Wh-what is Team Rocket like?" she asked quietly, shivering for what may come from any questions. She had only _just _got the courage pulled up to ask. He looked at her and cackled.

"What, you think you can join? You're going to be getting us money, kiddo." And he left before she could argue. She limped around her cell once more, deep in thought. She had to convince him to free her, and she knew the only way would be to get them more money than she would be 'sold' for. She cringed at the thought, tearing up. _Could mommy get them more money than selling me..? No, they won't even bother with that._ Her eyebrows knitted. _Maybe I can promise to... to somehow get them more money as a member than selling me... yeah! And then... and then I'll tear them down from the inside out! _She laughed a broken laugh. _I'll pretend I'm one of them and I'll rob people and get lotsa money, then I'll tear 'em down!_ She smiled for the first time since being locked up, as insincere as it was with gritted teeth, finally grabbing the food he had brought her. "I'll become a little spy for mommy..." she took a bite of her rice ball and chewed. "It'll have to work."

* * *

Odette's mother hadn't returned to her post to argue her point about Sakaki since her daughter's disappearance. She was desperately trying to find her daughter, her appearance in discord since the day she had gotten those horrible pop-ups on her laptop. She had begun to work day in and day out, but there were no leads for her daughter, even less than what Sakaki had led to. Her flat had turned into a crime scene, she was sleeping in hotels and yet, not a single finger print was left from the kidnappers. Odette had vanished into thin air, and the International Police had signed the papers over to Sakaki for the Viridian City Gym despite the woman trying desperately to convince them Sakaki _had_ to have done something to her daughter. But without a single trace of evidence to lead to Sakaki in the entire flat, she had to concede and the department had told her to stop being delusional: coincidences happened, the police and their family were targeted by crime syndicates all the time, it was an untold criteria you had to deal with upon sign-up. Another department was on the case of Odette's disappearance and they weren't too invested in it after no evidence of a kidnapping even existed. Posters had gone up of a child with rust-coloured eyes and hair all over Kanto, but not a single person called the report hotline with actual leads. It was hopeless before it started.

People began to start rumours in the large city of Saffron that the reason Odette had disappeared was because her mother was never home and she was almost old enough to go on a Pokemon journey, and without someone to ask, the child had taken into her own hands to begin the journey. The rumour made the mother seethe in anger, but there was nothing she could do about it. You couldn't arrest people for rumours, after all.

* * *

**A/N: Wooo, I am pretty happy with this. It's gruesome, but I swear I tried to keep the rape-scene as 'non-graphic' as possible, because graphic rape against nine-year-olds isn't freaking cool, yo. But it had to happen. Without it, the story and her decisions literally couldn't happen. I'm sorry if that put you off at all, readers. But I hope those who did get put off by it will at least stop and critique me to how I could write it to be more realistic to her personality after a traumatic event like that.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Gotta disclaim fast!**

* * *

Odette wasn't aware of how many days, perhaps weeks, that had passed since she had been thrown into the cell. She could feel her sanity cracking around her, the smell of excrement was the only smell she was aware of anymore, and she had taken comfort in making an imaginary friend who she chatted with. She plotted with her friend, a plot of escape and how she could be reunited with her mother and how she could get away from the creepy Rocket man who had stayed silent with her since her question.

Today, however, when he returned, he returned with ropes and she screeched at him to stay away. She kicked and punched at him the moment he came close and, silently, he punched her in the stomach, making her fall to her knees and vomit. Her retching echoed through the dungeon as he tied her hands and pulled her up. "Let's go," he said icily. He shoved her forward and walked her out of the dungeon.

The light of the hallway of the Rocket base blinded her and she screwed her eyes shut at its impact, whining from her throat. It hurt. It scorched her eyes as they adjusted and she squinted at the surroundings. Rocket grunts looked at her with a mix of pity and apathy. They saw her as a gaunt, unclean child, off to meet her future as an enslaved "wife". They stood at salute at the older man behind her and she looked away from them. Their respect was something she couldn't understand, he was sick, a man who hurt children. Why would _anyone_ have respect for him?

She caught a glance at a piece of paper tacked to a bulletin board that read that two months had passed since she had been locked up. She halted, staring with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Two months of absences, two months and her mother still had not found her; tears pricked at her eyes, tears of hopelessness. The Rocket behind her shoved her forward violently and she stumbled, walking again.

He led her to a bathroom and she shook her head. "No!" she barked, looking at him fearfully. He didn't heed her order, ignoring her as he walked past her. She ran at the door and heard his laughter echo through the room.

"You can't get out, Odette, it's locked," he murmured humorously. He grabbed a bottle of shampoo then dragged her over to a sink. He grabbed her neck and thrust her body to bend until her head was under the tap. He proceeded to wash her hair while she choked on water and coughed. "You can't be sold looking like a street rat," he purred. "No one's gonna buy you with greasy hair." She kicked back and missed. He responded by pulling her up by her hair to drive the tap into her skull. She screeched and struggled against him but her movements died soon afterwards.

When he finished and dried her hair off they proceeded to leave the building. The sun was harsher than the fluorescent lighting in the building and she hissed at the pain while the man pushed her up and onto the back of a label-less moving truck. Odette looked at the other girls who were standing in the truck and they exchanged a look of fear. "Sit, now!" He barked, and they quickly sat in the back of the truck. "You'll thank me." He grabbed the handle of the door above them. One girl tried to dart out and he grabbed her with one arm and threw her back in before slamming the overhead door, locking them in darkness. The group of girls stayed silent as the truck started up, other than some soft sobbing.

Odette heard a girl speak up far from her and she instinctively moved her head in her direction. "Do you think we can escape..?" She said quietly with a mousy voice. "Like, he opens that door and we run and we scatter and..."

"Won't there be more there?" Someone else whispered. The discussion was shut down. Odette could feel silent tears fall down her face and the shakes she had become only slightly used to.

They rode for hours without another conversation erupting. Odette could hear a couple of younger girls talk to imaginary friends and it made her cry harder as their one-sided conversations continued on with fear and tears in their voices. She wished her mother would find her by magic right now, save her from the place she had ended up in, but she felt hopeless. If the police hadn't found her in two months, how would they find them in this truck?

The truck eventually stopped and a different Rocket opened the door. The group of girls was met by the sight of a dozen Rocket members peering in at them, ready to grab anyone who tried to escape. Beyond them was a large ship, with a short walk on a wooden dock before the group would be packed away into it and shipped off to wherever they would go. Odette shivered, though she couldn't be sure if it was from the sea's salty breeze or her fear. It was now or never. If she couldn't get out now, she would never escape.

They were pulled down one by one and told to stand in a line while Rockets stood at the sides of them, staring them down. Odette cringed as she saw how apathetic they were; it was obvious these Rockets were used to seeing girls of all ages shipped off like this. It hurt her in a way she couldn't express. She swallowed when they were told to move forward, her feet felt like bricks were tied to them. _Now or never..._

"Hey," she whimpered to the Rocket near her who looked over at her with a slightly irritated expression. "Hey I need to ask you a question!" She stepped out of the line quickly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I... I..."

"Odette, what the fuck are you doing?" She cringed at his voice, his scratchy, dark voice. She looked at him with fear.

"P-please, sir, I'll do anything. I-I... I wanna join Team Rocket, please, _I'll do anything,_ _**please!**_" He looked at her without emotion. "I... you'll get caught! They'll find me if they sell me and they'll know who I am, c-cause my mom's a cop and there's prob-probably alerts out _everywhere, please!_" She didn't even know what she was saying any longer. She had thought about what she was going to say hundreds of times. Now, she had thrown all her logic out the window, she had completely forgotten everything. "Anything is better than this! I'll be the best Rocket you've e-ever had join!" Beside her, the Rockets had shoved the line forward and it was a hopeful sign everything could go right in her mind. They were leaving her! "And... and I know stuff about the police force! My mom's told me lots!"

She heard a chuckle from a decent ways away, a woman's laugh. "Go ahead, Dvina, let her. You know what boss said," she purred, coming out of the shadows. Odette stared at her with fear and confusion. "She's not worth shit now, anyone is going to be able to tell what you did."

"Shut the fuck up, we're _criminals,_ we can fucking lie. No refunds," he barked.

"But she'll be the _best little Rocket you've ever had join~! She knows stuff about the police force!_" the woman retorted in a childish tone that made Odette cringe. "Go ahead and take her in, she has guts." At the sound of this, the end of the line of girls scrambled to beg, only to be pushed to the boat.

"Yeah, guts to run to mommy right after she joins," he took Odette's neck in a death grip. "She'll be a fucking spy... fine! You take her, then, Khalij!" He threw Odette forward where she stumbled and fell to her knees on the hard wood. She shrieked at the feeling of splinters in her knees. "When she fucking runs to mommy, _you'll _get demoted!"

"Aha, like you were?" The woman, Khalij, cackled at him as she lifted Odette up. The young girl was shocked at her lighter touch and even more shocked when the woman took the ropes off her wrists. Dvina spat in bitterness. "Don't worry, girl, we get a few brave ones here and there. The brave ones get recruited." Odette swallowed. "But I'm sure he showed you what will happen," her voice became icy and she narrowed her eyes, "if you try and cross Team Rocket. Let's go." She grabbed the girl by the wrist and led her past the dock to a parking lot. "We have a long ride to go."

"I... no blindfold?" Odette asked hoarsely, in shock at the events that had unfolded. "I-is that guy... is he... powerful?"

Khalij laughed, loud and serene. "He's just a lowly admin... well, he was," she laughed. "And no, no blindfold. Now be quiet." She pulled a cell phone from her pocket as she opened a car door for Odette to crawl in. She did and, as the door shut, she strained to hear the phone conversation. "Oh, yes, Boss... I have this girl... Odette, he said? ...Oh, yes, Kobayashi, that's the one, the police officer's daughter... mmhm, she grew some balls," laughter, "I grabbed her off Dvina, she claims she knows shit about the police..." there was a long pause. "So who should I bring her to, you..? ...Oh, alright, I'll do it then." She walked around the car and got in, locking the doors as soon as she did. The lack of trust was obvious. "I'll be taking you to the boss, kiddo," she laughed. Odette shivered.

The older woman chattered through the whole drive, an act that seemed to be a certain tic of hers, because Odette realised she didn't break her one-sided conversation long enough for her to ask a single question the entire time. Instead, Odette stared idly at the passing road and played with her hair in nervousness as she watched the surroundings slip by. She didn't recognise where they were until they made it into Saffron and slipped past it to Celadon.

Khalij, thought Odette knew that wasn't her real name, was an average woman of average height, with green hair and green eyes. Her uniform, unlike all the uniforms she had seen thus far, was white and Odette wondered if all the girls in Team Rocket wore white instead of black. Unlike the other Rockets, too, she wore no gloves and her uniform was short, showing as much of her body as she could get away with. It confused the girl why she'd want to wear such a uniform. It was so _revealing_. And if every member of Team Rocket was like Dvina...

They stopped in front of a large building and Khalij sighed lightly. "Finally," she sang, getting out of the car and opening Odette's door. She followed the new recruit inside, putting a hand on her shoulder in thought, halting her. "You smell like total shit."

"I was-"

"Yes, yes, I know. But, there's nothing I can do about it. Its your clothes. Let's go," Khalij complained with an impatient wave of her hand, leading the girl up to an elevator. Odette could feel her stomach turn and she shook in fear. Of course, her situation here was better than _...wherever those other girls are going,_ she thought with a violent shake. Still, it wasn't _much_ better. As the elevator shook to life, the older Rocket looked at her. "Be respectful, don't talk back and don't be a brat. Or I'll call the boat back and put you on there myself." Odette swallowed thickly and nodded, her eyes as wide as 100 Pokeyen coins.

When the doors opened, Odette peered beyond them at the scene in slight shock. The office was furnished like what Odette would imagine a king's office would look like, with huge, plush couches, a thick, dark-wood desk and a high-backed seat in front of it. Windows led out to the skyline of Celadon City and Saffron City beyond it. A man with short black hair and a three-piece, black suit stood beside the desk, his body language distant from the older woman perched on the black and gold throne-like seat. The woman was older, but her hair was long, black and had no traces of greying and she still wore a tight, bright-red suit. Odette wondered if they were in the right place. They looked like CEO's. She couldn't shake off the fact this woman, who obviously was the one in power, could sit back and let other girls get sold under her watch. It was crazy.

"Is that Kobayashi?" The man spoke up first. Khalij had snapped into a salute with one fist on her chest and one arm behind her. Odette copied her nervously.

"Yes, sir!" Khalij replied. The two walked forward to stand in front of the desk. "Funny you should ask; her face is plastered everywhere, sir," she laughed.

"Of course," the woman, her voice far more brittle than her appearance, replied. She turned her attention to Odette. "You know about the police, she said?"

Odette nodded, "yes... yes ma'am. When I was littler my mom worked in the streets in Saffron... I know the routes!" She wasn't sure why her tone was the same as the tone she had used to plead with Dvina. "I can... I can draw them out on a map, even!"

The man reacted to this by opening a filing cabinet behind the desk, sifting out a large map of Saffron. He put it on the desk for her with a pen. "Draw, then."

Odette nodded, hunching over the map and holding the pen with a grip tight enough to stop the quivers. She drew arrows all over the map, listing times and details of highly patrolled areas. Silph Co. constantly had guards and officers about, she knew. The police station and all the areas around it were highly trafficked areas. Other areas of congestion kept a constant patrol. "And there?" The old woman asked, pointing to an area in the lower east corner.

"Oh that's kinda... the slum area, no one cares there," Odette replied proudly. "Police don't go there much unless they're called there for something stupid, my mom told me so. And same for the suburban area there, it's all poor people's houses so no one cares about them much." She drew more arrows along the north east corner. "Oh and the north-west corner too. Other than the magnet train, of course. You probably don't wanna be seen there much but it's public property and my mom says nothing can be done there. Still..." she furrowed her brow, "my mom said anyone with a Rocket uniform is, like, instantly put on suspicion and can be followed." After a few more moments she stepped back and stretched her back out. "Saffron has strict laws about Team Rocket, more than Celadon I think." She had seen tons of uniforms in Celadon.

"I see," the woman said softly. "Giovanni, be useful, get uniforms for her." Giovanni grumbled something and walked off. "To you, I am Madame Boss. Giovanni is my son, he's," she leaned in with a smile, "a bit useless, really, but at least he's nice cover. Your mother was on his tail, which is why you're here. Now, we'll make you her worst enemy." Odette held back from cringing, but she stiffened. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Madame Boss. I'll be her worst enemy, I promise. I'm... I'm dedicated to Team Rocket now, I swear," she held up her right hand.

"Good," the woman leaned back. "Khalij, you can go now, dear." Khalij nodded, walking out of the room swiftly. "We'll make you a perfect little girl, or I'll get good money off you. Men like feisty little girls, you know." Odette shivered. Giovanni returned with a box. "Oh, good." She took the box from Giovanni's hand without warmth, avoiding his touch. "This box has your uniforms and a Pokemon. All recruits get a Pokemon, after all. We'll put you in a group with other kids, so you won't be so lonely, yes?" Odette nodded, taking the offered box and opening it slowly like a bomb could lurk inside. She even sighed in relief when it didn't explode. A Pokeball sat atop with a white belt coiled around it, nestled upon a sea of black. She closed the box back up as she realised that, under any other circumstance, she would absolutely hate this woman for her obvious baby-talk to her. Now, however, Odette couldn't complain. It was far better than Dvina, and, at that particular moment, that was all that mattered. "Gio, take her to her room. And Odette," she added quickly, "you better make lots of money."

Giovanni and Odette nodded without a word, and he motioning for the rusty-haired girl to follow. She scooped the box in her arms, only just able to see over the top as she followed him. "You got lucky," he said in a neutral tone. Odette kept her distance from him, scared of him like she was with Dvina. "If that worthless shit had kept his hands off you... the moment my mother dies I'm firing him, he does this shit all the time." He led her down the elevator and into his car that smelled of new leather and just a bit of cigarette smoke. She sat in the back seat, staring at Giovanni until she could tell it aggravated him. "What?"

"You... don't agree with... that creepy man?" She asked quietly.

"He's worthless to me. He screws us out of a lot of money by being a sick fuck. On the other hand, he captures a lot of foreigners. And people in Kanto seem to like his catches, when he doesn't fuck them up."

"...Oh," she whispered, clinging to the box and taking in the scent of clean clothes. They stopped at an apartment complex in the poor part of Celadon. Teenagers huddled around the stoop, smoking cigarettes and shoving each other, laughing at their own jokes. She slipped out of the car when Giovanni did, following him as they made way for their superior, standing at salute until they were inside. She could hear their voices despite the heavy doors closing. Up a couple flights of stairs they went before Giovanni dropped a key into her hand.

"This is your new home. Keep in mind, Odette," he said as she put the box down to unlock the door, "if any other member here sees you try to sneak off to Saffron, your little game is up. We have no trust." She squeaked, unlocking the door and opening it. "You'll be assigned an admin tomorrow. An admin under myself. Good night."

She slipped inside the moment Giovanni turned and dragged the box behind her. Five heads and a Rattata turned to stare at her from beyond corners and over a couch. All of the members in the room were around her age and she wondered why they were even there. She couldn't imagine willingly leaving home to join Team Rocket, not at all. A blonde girl with pink eyes spoke up first, her voice squeaky. "It's her! Hi!"

"Um... hi?" Odette squeaked out. There was a girl with red hair and purple eyes, a boy with bright orange hair and yellow bangs and black eyes, a girl with purple hair and yellow eyes, who clutched a Rattata to her torso, and the oldest of the group, a guy who looked thirteen and was smoking a cigarette with brown eyes and hair. One by one they introduced themselves. Candy, the energetic blonde, Sofia, the redhead, Wisp with black eyes and a knife in his hands at all times, Chelsea who looked as scared as Odette and Weasel, the chain smoker. They all wore Grunt uniforms and Odette saw the short skirts and realised hers would be the same.

"We heard there'd be a new kid," Wisp said, plucking a cigarette from Weasel's lost pack.

"We've seen your picture _everywheeere_," Chelsea squealed, "but then they said 'oh yea that girl from the posters is your new flatmate', and, like, we _freaked out._"

Odette smiled sadly, "I guess the police couldn't find me," she choked out a laugh. "But it's okay, 'cause I told them, I'd be the best Grunt ever. And now I'm here." Candy jumped off the couch.

"Gosh you look like crap, girl, let's get you, like... come on!" She led Odette to a room. "Here, this is the girl's room... go shower, you smell like _shiiiit_." She laughed but Odette didn't have the energy to join her.

As she showered, she had a million thoughts in her head. Giovanni had never touched her, not even once. He had dropped the key into her hand and even let her get into his car without his assistance. She had to wonder if the other girls here had ever experienced what she had. But they seemed far too happy to have ever experienced _that._ She shook her head under the warm water. It felt too good to think about that. She knew she'd have to find a way to forget that ever happened. If other members were like Giovanni, she'd be okay, right? She relaxed under the hot water, looking at the ceiling. It felt so normal and yet, so weird. It wasn't home but it was better than anything she had felt in two months. She smiled, closing her eyes. Maybe she would get used to it.

She'd still tear them down from the inside, of course.

She turned the water off when it grew cold and pulled out her new uniform, sliding it on and looking into the mirror. Her jaw dropped. Her dark-orange hair was thinner than it had ever been in her life. Her usually pudgy cheeks were thin and she could see the bone underneath. Her eyes, the colour of her hair, dead and without life, had dark purple shadows under them and the uniform, tight as it was, showed bones she didn't even know she had. Collarbones and hip bones jutted out from her skin. She had avoided looking at herself for months, and she wondered how no one had stepped back from her. She looked like a car wreck. She turned the light off and trudged out the door with the box in tow. She slid the belt on her waist and pulled the gloves on, then grabbed her lone Pokeball, walking back into the living room. It was late and she yawned as she sat on a couch in the empty spot between Wisp and Weasel.

"So..." she started when the conversation, something about stealing Potions from the Pokemart "bitch", died down, "I have no idea what Pokemon this is. Wanna see with me?"

"Let's see it," Sofia piped up encouragingly. Weasel nodded, mouth full of smoke. Odette released the Pokemon, revealing a Zubat that flapped around her head in confusion.

"Oh, _luck_y you," Candy said bitterly.

"Are you ever gonna shut up about that?" Chelsea whined.

"Shut up, Candy," Weasel barked out, "some people would kill for Grimer."

"I'll shove Grimer down your poisoned lungs!" She whined. Odette smiled at the little Pokemon, ignoring them. She grabbed it from the air and coddled it. They were both confused and both new Rocket members. The bat wasn't very strong, Odette could tell.

"Whatcha gonna call it, eh?" Wisp said, his eyes droopy. "Call 'im 'Batshit'."

"Wha-? No!" Odette cried, just as the Zubat screeched and made everyone in the room cover their ears. When it was done she looked at the bat who had proceeded to continue fluttering around her face. "...Silencer."

"What? That's stupid, he fuckin' screeches and you call him-" Wisp began.

"It's not stupid! You're stupid! Anyone would shut up hearing that," she defended, grabbing her Zubat again and coddling it, petting his eyeless head.

"Plus, Zubat isn't shit. Your Koffing is shit," Weasel said, laughing.

After a little while longer, Odette returned Silencer to his Pokeball and said goodnight to her comrades. She looked at the beds in the room, seeing boxes around a few of them. She chose one against a wall and curled up, sighing a sigh of relief she had held in all day. The bed was far more comfortable than the cell floor she had become used to and she nestled into the warmth around her, clutching the Pokeball to her chest with her knees. It wasn't long before the comfort of the conversation outside the room, which felt miles away, and the warm covers she was under pulled sleep to her. _Best bed ever,_ she thought with a smile, forgetting some of the bad, if only for a moment.

* * *

**A/N: Writing a lot of text without dialogue to break it up, yo, it's kinda hard. Fortunately, those days for me and Odette are coming to an end. Woot. Also, I freaking love Madame Boss, or, at least, the idea of her.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Remember, kids, when you don't disclaim, bad shit happens to you. Wait, _kids_?! Why the hell are you reading this if you're a kid?**

* * *

The next day, Giovanni had absolutely kept to his promise, Odette found out when she was pulled out of bed by Candy. Sofia had sworn she had tried to wake her up in a gentler way, but she hadn't even moved, thus, Candy had taken it upon herself with the help of Weasel to push her out of bed and drag her down the hall. "Hurry up, we're gonna be late, sleepyhead!" she cried as she pulled the groggy nine-year old down the hall as soon as Odette stumbled around instead of fell on her face. She snapped to alertness the moment stairs entered the equation. Falling down those was not her idea of a good morning, she decided instantly. She had enough aches and bruises, from the punch to her stomach, to her back, where a piece of metal had dug into her back during the entire truck ride to the beach. It was five flights of stairs later when they stood, Candy jumping up and down to see over adults' shoulders, in front of the busy bulletin board. Odette squeezed through the group to the front, looking for her name with bleary eyes. She finally found her name, under Giovanni's name, which branched out into large groups. The organisation was larger than she ever expected. Far, far towards the bottom she found the headline for Agents and found her name, along with her flatmates, under a pair named Tomahawk and Mauler.

Sounded like a pair of psychopaths to her.

And thus, three weeks of training passed her by quickly, all the while her only thoughts were that the training she would do under them would be their demise. It would come back to bite them in the ass, she knew. She'd be a hero of Kanto, and influential person despite all the things they had done to her. It made her train hard, harder than she would otherwise. She never spoke a word of this to her new friends, and her only sadness was that they would be caught in the crossfire of her plans. They were all really nice to her, although Wisp was a bit creepy, and everyday they went on new adventures together, always on watch by grunts they would spy here and there who were obviously on their tail to make sure they didn't run to the police immediately. Sofia, also nine, had even given her some clothing that wasn't the Rocket uniform one day. She never went to bed unclean or hungry, and for that, at least, she was thankful to Team Rocket for. At least they treated their members with some dignity.

Mauler and Tomahawk, her trainers, were both males in their early twenties who chain smoked and were mutually part of the crew known as Assassins. It intrigued Odette. They didn't just kill people (though they proved they knew how to), it was only their side job. Their sole mission was still, of course, to get money and they both knew how to do it. However, Mauler was also part of the thieves who robbed people blind and stole Pokemon, while working close with a group known as Suppliers. Tomahawk, however, was a Scout, both on the field and off the field. He taught them a little bit about hacking, but would always leave important details out, as, he said, that was part of specialised training, and only if you ended up being sorted into that during aptitude testing.

They had laid out the baseline for all the recruits: from the tiers of ranks to the actual jobs within those ranks. Of course, most people never passed the grunt stage, only the exceptional people. It made Odette train harder. How could she take them down as a _grunt?_ It would be impossible. She needed access to files. Real documents. No grunt got access to the offices with keys, naturally. She would have to climb to Agent, always paired with another Agent, then to Spy, still paired. From there, they could stay in pairs or separate as High-Rank Officers. As Elite Officers, they always went solo, into Executive

"Three weeks have passed," Tomahawk bellowed to the group of grunts, almost one-hundred in total, "and today will be your first mission!" The grunts stood in ten rows of ten, all of them at salute, in the afternoon sun in a hollow clearing between Saffron and Celadon. The agent, Tomahawk, towered over Odette to the point it made her uncomfortable. His hair was long and messy and bright pink, unlike Mauler, who had short dark blue hair, always well-kept. Mauler was also a bit shorter than him, though they both had piercing black eyes. They were both frightening to Odette, although she realised she'd have to shake that off eventually. If she was intimidated, she'd never pass the test.

"Yes, today, we're going to test your skills," Mauler said, smiling with a crooked grin. "We have told you the safe routes, the unsafe routes. You will spend your time in Celadon and Saffron until nightfall pickpocketing people. Steal anything you can: Pokemon, Pokeyen, you should know what Team Rocket wants."

"The best thing you can do," Tomahawk added, "is stay away from each other, give each other distance. Of course," he said quietly, "the person in the front of the line always gets the goods."

"Prove you know what you're doing!" Mauler shouted and Odette clenched her fist tighter over her chest, "now get out there!"

The grunts scattered the moment they were dismissed, everyone flying in different directions. Odette moved into Celadon, knowing if she stepped into Saffron, she would be in deep trouble. She walked into the middle of the city before running at her friends who were grouped up in a circle.

Candy was already chattering excitedly, "let's prove we're better than some of the adults," she sang happily. "We can do this! Keep up with how much you steal."

"We'll compare everything!" Odette chimed in as she shoved into the circle.

"The person who does worst," Wisp said darkly, "they gotta do all the chores 'n' make dinner." The group nodded simultaneously. Weasel stretched his arm out in invitation to the center of the group and the other five put their hands on his.

"Raid on the city, knock out, evil tusks!" They shouted, throwing their hands up in the air before scattering in opposite directions. Odette felt blind in the large city. Of course, she had wandered the city with her friends numerous times, but never had she been alone. People wandered around her idly, blissfully unaware of the Rockets swarming around them. Did they just not care? Or had they gotten so used to the black uniforms that they blended in like civilian clothing or a normal cheap sedan? Either way, it made Team Rocket's time easier. Odette turned her attention away from the people around her to a parking garage.

Bingo.

She slipped into the darkness of its shelter from the summer sun, looking at the large array of cars. Her eyes lit up as she realised no one else seemed to have thought the same thing as her. She darted up to the second compartment of cars before she slowed down, checking each car for unlocked latches. Every car she found unlocked, she slipped inside and searched it for anything. On her seventh car she danced with joy upon leaving and darting away from it. A whole wallet! Packed with Pokeyen! She checked more cars before wandering back into the city when she realised it wasn't _that_ great of an idea. Sure, there were coins here and there, but Team Rocket wasn't exactly looking for coins.

She could see the wide shadows beginning to fall over the city, signs of the dinner rush approaching. She pick-pocketed the most idle of tourists and lovestruck dinner couples, an easy wallet here, a pokeball or two there, while taking note of the slim alleyways in the city as her choice of silent escape. They were perfect little holes for her.

She stood at the entrance of one when she saw a grunt get threatened by an older man who caught him, his Pokeball clenched in his hand. The grunt recoiled, his hand on his own Pokeball, but Odette knew he wouldn't stand a chance. Sure, they _had_ trained their Pokemon during training, but the older man looked serious. The Electabuzz that erupted from his Pokeball looked even more serious. She had to stifle her laughter as the grunt stepped back and ran. What a coward.

As nightfall approached and Odette was losing places in her belt, gloves and boots to hide wallets and Pokeballs, she looked back to the clearing in the forest, making her way back awkwardly from the extra weight she wasn't used to. She was still looking for wary people but, as night was falling, it was a boring task. People were far more on alert at night. Silly, she thought, considering they had been stealing all day, not night.

It was as she grew bored of watching protective trainers and instead turned her attention to a large building full of offices. Grey and drab, it reached toward the skies, full of yellow little squares with little black dots doing whatever it was people in offices did. She really wasn't sure, although it looked boring. She crossed the street, walking in front of it and stopping suddenly, staring at something she wasn't sure of.

It looked like a little metal dog with big blue eyes. She approached it slowly, looking at it with a tilted head. It was cute, whatever it was, but she knew one thing: this Pokemon was foreign. It _had_ to be owned by some idiot who was in that office building, she had never even seen a Pokemon like it before in Kanto or even in her studies. She jumped back when it moved, opened a mouth full of metal teeth and clamped down on a hubcap of a luxury rental car it was attached to with a leash hanging from the side mirror. She screeched as its teeth scraped the metal and crunched it and she held her ears with her hands, staring at it with narrowed eyes.

What a weird little dog.

When it stopped after popping a large screw out and chewing it to pieces, Odette looked around. People had scattered from the sound, it seemed. And, more importantly, the little metal Pokemon's owner was nowhere to be seen. It didn't take long before Odette whispered, "sorry, Team Rocket, this one's mine." She scooped the little metal thing up in her arms, shocked by its weight despite being so tiny, unhooking its leash and running, hiding the Pokemon behind her oversized gloves. She didn't stop running until she skidded to a halt in front of the Pokemart. She went in quietly, pulling a couple hundred Pokeyen from a wallet in her belt and putting it on the counter with a Pokeball. She didn't say a word to the woman behind the counter who didn't look too threatened by her as she scooped the steel Pokemon in her new Pokeball. She left, looking at the Pokeball with wide eyes before she stowed it away in secrecy.

When she made it back to the clearing she was met by other grunts who were pulling their finds out of every pocket they had, putting them in front of Tomahawk and Mauler who weren't paying attention, too busy playing a game on their Pokegears. Odette pulled her stash of goodies out, tossing everything down except her new little Pokemon. She wondered if Silencer would enjoy a friend.

It was a little over an hour later before most of the grunts returned. Tomahawk finally stood up, stowing his Pokegear away and the grunts snapped to attention. The stack of stolen goods were large and a couple grunts and Mauler were sweeping the stash into boxes while Tomahawk addressed the crowd.

"As you can see, some of your friends may have, aha, been caught. But it happens. There will always be shitty grunts," he laughed darkly. "Let's get the fuck home, I'm hungry." It was a short speech, but all of Tomahawk's speeches were. The flat had christened him king of leaving out important details.

She met up with the other five kids quickly as they made their way home, arguing over who had gotten the most goods. "I got, like, nineteen wallets and twelve Pokemon," Chelsea said proudly, puffing her chest out with a big grin. Candy rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically.

"That ain't shit! I got twenty wallets! And nine Pokemon, too!"

"I... I got twenty-two wallets and five Pokemon," Odette murmured. She didn't count the little Pokemon she stole for herself.

"Well, I got thirty-four wallets and seventeen Pokemon," Sofia whispered sheepishly, her face red. Everyone knew she got away with it by being cute. People got distracted by her, even in her uniform. She was the best thief in their little group.

"Wait, what?" Wisp howled, "you're fulla shit. _I_ didn't even get that much."

"Twenty-four wallets, sixteen Pokemon," Weasel said idly. He didn't seem to care much.

"Whatever," Chelsea whined, "ugh, whatever, guys." Wisp cackled.

"Guess you're making dinner. Make lots. I'm hungry now 'n' I'm gonna be real hungry by the time you finish," he barked out. "I gots more than you. Thirty-one wallets and like, fifteen Pokemon." He shot a fist in the air. Candy and Chelsea sighed at him. Everyone could tell he was lying. Still, it would be no use to make him do chores. Wisp never did chores.

"Well I actually got six Pokemon," Odette said proudly, presenting her Pokeball to the group. "I'll show you when we get back... I couldn't give this one up it's too cute." She cuddled the Pokeball.

"What is it..?" Sofia asked, head tilted in curiosity.

"I... well, I dunno," she replied, "it's weird, like a little metal dog." She stowed the Pokeball away when they approached the building so no one would see it.

They trudged upstairs and Chelsea immediately went to the kitchen with a grumble. She banged pots around and slammed cabinet doors with anger. The others threw themselves on couches and Odette felt her shaky feeling flare up. She grabbed her Pokeball and, with more pressing from Sofia, released the little metal dog. The five of them grouped around it with curiosity before Weasel bellowed with laughter.

"Oh that things an Aron! It's common over in Hoenn, I remember reading about it sometime," he said, grabbing his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "It's not a dog."

Odette glared at him, "well, I dunno what it is! Looks like a little dog to me..." she pouted, grabbing the little beast off the table and putting it in her lap. She glared at Wisp next, "and no, I don't know what I'm gonna call it." Wisp shrugged, looking up from the coffee table where he was breaking up a bud of cannabis. Odette always hated the smell of the stuff when he smoked it, but no one else seemed to complain so neither did she. On the other hand, only he and Weasel touched it. Odette and Sofia were both admittedly too scared to try it and Candy was told she couldn't because she was already too hyper. And because they were twelve and thirteen, they were allowed to boss her around because she was only eleven. It was the unwritten rule that they controlled the house when it came to dangerous things. Chelsea didn't get input because she was "a crappy Rocket".

The truth was, the boys just wanted to rule because they were the guys. Odette had tried to argue with them with Candy, to no avail.

Chelsea plopped down on a couch ten minutes later, her arms crossed, between Weasel and Wisp who passed the rolled up plant around. She watched it pass with darkness in her eyes, plucking it out of Weasel's lazy grip when it passed. She quickly brought it to her lips and glared at Wisp, breathing in the smoke and holding it down until she coughed. Wisp grabbed it as soon as she weakened her grip from her coughing fit. "Stupid bitch," he muttered. She blew smoke into his eyes, but it wasn't long before she loosened up and slipped back in the kitchen, laughing at the mess she had made.

"Ohhhh man, ahhahaha, there are noodles everywhere," she laughed out, noting a box of noodles she had thrown in anger.

Odette had released Zubat to make the two of them become friendly, but Zubat didn't seem to be wanting any of it. She pushed the two together until Silencer shrieked at her and she let him go, frowning. "Come on, guys, how are you gonna fight together like that?"

"They'll figure it out when they're boutta die," Wisp cackled, watching the two take jabs at each other.

"They need to be friendly _now_," Odette whined, sitting back with a huff. Candy laughed.

"Looks like Odette needs what Chelsea had," she said quietly. Odette pushed her off the couch arm with a hard shove before crossing her arms. She glared at her two Pokemon who continued to try and bite one another. She continued to glower at them over dinner, through every steamy bite. She couldn't handle it after an hour and returned them to their Pokeballs before she crawled to bed, cuddling both their Pokeballs to her chest.

Her dreams were always nightmares, filled with blood and fingernail scratches and a panicky, flighty feeling. Sometimes she was running from the cops or from Dvina, sometimes she relived that horrible night. But tonight, it happened different. Tonight, she had her Aron and Silencer beside her and they ruined Dvina, they didn't let it happen to her tonight.

She woke up with tears in her eyes. But they were tears of happiness. She had people, or, rather, Pokemon, who cared. She slipped out of bed before dawn, taking her Pokemon with her as she went to the living room. She let her Pokemon out again to try again. Zubat flapped at a low speed and Aron stared at her between long blinks. "Come on guys," she said softly, petting both of their tiny heads, "you guys gotta be nice so if I'm in danger again, you can save me." Aron tilted her head in confusion, blinking slowly again. Zubat flapped faster in protest. "If you're not friends how are you gonna help me?" Zubat screeched and she covered his mouth, her eyes wide. "No, it's too early, Silencer!" She sighed. "Please, do it for me, then? We can be a happy family." She nudged the two Pokemon closer to each other, her eyes filled with fear.

The two Pokemon turned towards each other and let out an airy and metallic sigh, respectively. "I know you can't do much to Aron," she murmured to Zubat, "but she won't hurt you... I won't let her, I promise." The two Pokemon met for a brief moment, rubbing their faces before breaking apart. Odette smiled. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her. Of course there'd have to be more trust built, but as long as they could focus on the _enemy _and not each other, maybe it could all work out. Now she had another matter to work out other than her Pokemon allies: a human ally.

She waited in silence until Sofia woke up and dragged her feet into the living room, her yawn big. It wasn't moments later Odette threw it on her. "So... so..." she looked around and lowered her voice, "how about we tear Team Rocket down?"

"...What?" Sofia whispered, eyes wide with shock.

"We tear 'em down, together. We'll be _heroes_, we'll be loved forever," Odette's eyes sparkled, "and Kanto will never forget us." She could see the cogs moving in Sofia's tired head and she leaned in closer to her closest friend. "Come on, think about it?"

"Okay... but... that's scary," Sofia whined, "I mean, Team Rocket is huge!"

"Yeah, but I bet we could do it," she smiled wide. "Especially if we branch out and get more people to agree and stuff... not now but later." Sofia nodded, her sleep wearing off with the conversation. "We'll start with friends then... move out."

"Okay, but then what..?" Sofia asked quietly. Odette shrugged.

"We... wait and see. It'll work itself out, I know it," she said decidedly, nodding and closing her eyes like she had seen wise characters do in tv shows. Sofia giggled at her, nodding back at her.

"Okay."

* * *

It happened one night when they were on a city raid, Odette was running from the cops, holding her belt tightly to keep her stolen goods in place. They had gotten a tip-off, though she wasn't sure from whom, and they had swarmed the city not long after a large group of Rockets were told to do what they did best. It was raining and she felt her breath come in pants, her chest thumping with anxiety. She felt an hand on her arm and she was pulled into an alley. She stumbled before running behind the person who had grabbed her from the sidewalk. The wound their way through the city, taking alleyways. The man, she found when they slipped into an area of light, was much older than her, but she vaguely recognised him from the group of one hundred who always got grouped together during moments like this. She didn't know his name and she didn't care, she just let him lead her through his secret passageways. In a building, out a building, through an alley, over a bar counter and out the back door. She huffed as they stopped in the last alley. He was wheezing. She stared at him.

"Thank you," she panted, hands on her knees as she bent over to breathe finally. He nodded, swallowing and wheezing.

"No problem. Can't let a comrade fall into their hands. Can't believe I lost them," he panted, wiping sweat from his brow. "They _recognised_ you, idiot," he wheezed out, coughing. She pat his back softly before rubbing circles in it. The insult flew past her. "They were gonna take you back to your mother." Her hand froze.

That was what she had wanted. But he had, unknowingly, stripped her from that _freedom_. She pulled her hand away, gritting her teeth. "Thanks," she choked out through them. He didn't know. She couldn't be angry at him. He thought he had saved her. She wiped hair, matted down from the rain and sweat, from her face. The man was still wheezing heavily and she returned her hand to his back to comfort him.

_Truthfully,_ she admitted to herself, _he didn't know. He did the kindest thing in his mind._ She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears that pricked at her eyes as her mother's face swam to her mind's eye. A look of elation was on it and she felt her shoulders shake in silent sobs.

* * *

"Raid on the city, knock out, evil tusks!" They shouted, throwing their hands up into the rain. It was going to be their biggest mission yet, a break-in at the Pokemart in Viridian City. It was a small town, a small mart, definitely something they should be able to handle, Mauler had promised. He had dropped them off and told them the escape route _and_ the second route just in case. The group of ten, their flat and another group, charged into the Pokemart, skidding to a halt on the tile floor.

"All your Pokeyen!" an older teen shouted, his voice echoing off the wall. He stood at the front of the group, his gun pointed at the Pokemart shopkeeper. Others in the group pointed their pistols at shoppers who fell to the floor with cries and screams. The shopkeeper, his legs shaking, punched the cash register open, sending Pokeyen flying with force. Odette occupied by filling a bag with supplies. She ran her arm down rows of merchandise, letting the bag catch it all. Candy, humming a little tune she couldn't recognise, was doing the same. Zubats flew around the empty space between the aisles and ceiling and Rattatas ran across their feet, threatening the shoppers on the floor by gnashing their teeth.

It was quick. Five minutes and the shop was practically empty. They evacuated and escaped. Odette's eyes glistened. Theft was easy. And, she found her lip curling upward, it was too easy, too. It required no skill. They slipped into the trees and found the two trucks they would escape by. Within ten minutes, Viridian City became a small dot of blue lights from the time they had gotten there.

Theft was easy and it required no skill. And, if Odette was being honest with herself, and she denied it vehemently, she actually rather enjoyed it.

And therein lied the problem: the whole flat had become her ally. They were all in it to tear Team Rocket down now. Even Wisp, who, well, was really in on the plan so he could rule Team Rocket on his own. She had broken down and told them her whole story and they had promised to get her out of there. But now, and she would deny it to them, she was somewhat enjoying herself. It was like school was forever out. No one really cared what they did, as long as they didn't go to the police or into Saffron City. And Odette found herself forgetting how she even existed back when things were normal. When she was in school, studying for entrance exams every year, having her mom, well, _sometimes_ at home. She was forgetting that existence. Hell, she even found herself forgetting, albeit rarely, about the cell. And when no one was looking, she would take down posters of her, despite them being old, waterlogged and torn, for good measure.

Team Rocket was, other than the one creepy Rocket, quite pleasant. They were foul-mouthed and reeked of cigarette and weed smoke (among other things), but they had become her world for three months now. They trusted her with responsibilities like breaking and entering into Pokemarts.

Odette almost regretted convincing the small group to help her. That is, when she was being honest with herself. And she rarely was honest with herself anymore.

Still, they were quickly approaching time for their testing. Tomahawk and Mauler were warning them daily that their aptitude exams were approaching and it'd only be a couple months before they were in the field, showing their skills. Odette had to make her decision fast. She was, well, among traitors now. And she worried that Giovanni, who would be handing out the exam, would be able to sniff out a coward, a fake. It racked at her brain and made her lose her appetite. She could go with her feelings or her mind. Her birthday had passed and went and, while she had reminisced on the fact that at ten, you could legally become a trainer, she had mostly ignored it. She _was_ a trainer, without a trainer I.D. She had lost her appetite around that time, anyway. She had realised Team Rocket wasn't so bad for her. It hit her like a ton of bricks on the sleepless night after she had nearly been taken by the cops. The man who had "saved" her had done the nicest thing a single Rocket had done for her, _ever._ She had wondered if he would have saved her from Dvina. Her mind gave her a hopeful, resounding "yes" to that. Not every Rocket was evil.

She watched the trees go by them in the darkness, her eyes dark with thought as she petted her Zubat idly. She had taken to long stretches of silence, and her partners in crime had whispered it was because she was remembering "The Event". Of course, that wasn't it at all, though she cringed at their words. She wasn't that fragile anymore, she was _ten-years-old_, it had happened _five months ago. _And to her, that was a long time. She had even sparred with Mauler without recoiling from his touch on her wrists! She was okay.

The nightmares never had stopped, of course, but she convinced herself it was nothing, anyway.

"Hold onto your asses," Tomahawk said as they went around a bend at a high speed. The felt the truck come up of two wheels and fall back down and the man laughed. Odette grabbed the handle on the door for leverage. She grunted at the impact as they zoomed through Pewter.

She would have to get rid of the traitors, she decided. She touched the pistol on her waist. _It has to been when we're with Tomahawk and Mauler. Or no one will understand._ She grinned darkly, narrowing her eyes and clenching her teeth. But was it the right thing to do? She held back a sigh of anxiety. They were her _friends_, though their words stung at her brain. They thought she was so damn fragile. It made her mad. They had all become so protective of her, as if she would crack and breakdown at any moment. It had begun to grate on her nerves. _No, it has to be with Giovanni,_ she decided. That would give her more time to think about it. She was still so unsure of her decision. She had only threatened people before, and she wasn't even too good at that. She had never even hurt anyone before. To shoot people was something she had never done or even thought about before recently.

"Oi, hey, here's your cuts," Mauler said, tossing bundles of Pokeyen into everyone's laps. It hit her Zubat, who screeched in reply and she grabbed the bundle before he threw it in the floor.

And still, she had to remember, Team Rocket wasn't exactly full of nice people and rainbows. They were still _evil_, and although she had never seen it but once, she was sure there were still girls being sold, girls like her, but girls who were too afraid to think of the alternative. But, did that make them weak? It was weak to never consider any alternatives. _Oh, yeah, let me just get sold instead of pledging my life over!_ She held a dark chuckle down. The group around her chatted about things she didn't hear or care about. Their voices made her heart sink. Could she extinguish that? She wasn't sure. Maybe if she was ordered, but she was going to shock the world. _Her_ world. If she could. She still wasn't sure.

Weak, though? Had Team Rocket had that much effect on her mind that she now called the girls who she had seen and shared something around four hours of time with in the back of a dark truck, weak? It frightened her that they had already made her mind so black, so dark, that she was now calling people _weak_ for not choosing to go with their captors. Still, who would be stupid enough _not_ to choose the alternative from being sold? At least, with Team Rocket, you knew who they were. Being sold meant you were stuck with people who you didn't even know. Still. Weak?

And this was how she stayed for the next month, her eyes glassed over in deep thought and her worldview falling apart around her. She saw people as blurry masses as she went through the days. Her friends became blurry colours, no longer the people she remembered. Their words ate at her, day in and day out. She seethed in anger whenever they looked at her. She wondered if her mother had ever killed anyone from anger. Did her mother think criminals deserved to die? How about cowards? Rumour starters?

Odette stood at attention, the sharpness returning to her world as she looked Giovanni in the face on the cool autumn day. He was a man who upheld a great image. She knew it, because her mother never shut up about how great he appeared to the outside world. _Giovanni Sakaki is so clean, it's eerie_, her mother would always complain in the night. Odette's fingers clenched over her chest. Thoughts ran through her mind like clockwork. It was now or never. She looked at him as he spoke about their exam, standing next to an Elite Officer and a pair of High-Ranked Officers she didn't know, who stood beside Tomahawk and Mauler. Could she be there one day? Would she be with Candy, or Sofia? She glanced at them from the corners of her eyes.

No. Yes. No. Yes... _no._

She looked back at Giovanni, taking in his words. "There is a written portion of the exam and a skills portion of the exam," he said to the group. "In the written portion, I want you to write down everything you've learned and everything you know about anything you deem important to our organisation and our goals. In the skills portion, you'll be proving your worth by sparring with one another until your partner is subdued, how good you are at pick-pocketing and you'll show us your technique to stealing Pokemon. If you do well, you will be promoted to Agent status. The rest of you will stay grunts. Do not fail Team Rocket now."

She looked him in the eyes and breathed in heavily, her heart racing as millions of thoughts ran through her head. Tomahawk and Mauler began to pass out papers and pens to the group. She took them with blurry vision.

* * *

**A/N: BAM, and I leave you with a cliff-hanger. So evil I am. Two chapters. One night. I'm batshit!  
**

**Cults are crazy as fuck, yo. They will bend your mind.**

**Fun fact: All the Rockets you see named (barring Giovanni, o'course, and Madame Boss) are named after real rocket missiles. Including Dvina and Khalij. Tomahawk and Mauler are also rockets~ This naming convention in Pokemon for Team Rocket started in Heartgold/Soulsilver with the Executives. And I'd have to be an idiot to not keep it alive. Cheers! Send me reviews if you like my story... or if you don't. A cat is okay too.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Not disclaiming is like not eating fruit, you'll get scurvy and die. I am totally seriouslah right now, gahz. Wait, wrong fandom.**

* * *

The time it took to finish the written exam portion felt like three weeks to Odette. She wrote down everything that swam to her mind. She knew police paths in Saffron City. She knew a little about legal things, but most of them, she felt, Team Rocket would already know. She sighed. She was a ten-year-old kid. Of course she didn't know things that some of the people in the clearing knew, people who were in their teens or older. Some of those people had boasted at times about setting up meth labs. She was an empty slate, _hey,_ that's a perk, isn't it? She wrote it down anyway. She was an empty slate to be turned into whatever they wanted! Perfect! She sighed again. Sofia was equally as frustrated. Odette could almost read her mind: how would they be promoted if they didn't even really know anything beyond what they were taught?

Once the time was up, Odette sheepishly handed her almost-empty paper in. Her sheepish smile didn't quite make it to her face, which was pale. Now or never, now or never, now or never. _Time is running out._ She subconsciously touched the gun on her waist, her vision blurring. It wasn't until they snapped to attention that she saw that Giovanni had pulled a machine gun out that she hadn't seen before. Was that part of their training?

Yes, it was, Giovanni would explain. They would use it, along with four others, but not against one another. Odette could feel sweat on her brow. They'd simply take note on who could handle the recoil, one at a time. But that was later. Time to spar. They were paired up and the officers and Giovanni himself went around, taking notes on printed papers. She didn't have time to pay attention to Giovanni. Wisp was fast like light, his movements swift and perfectly aligned to his flighty personality. Odette had to summon everything in her to dance around his every move, though she hardly had time to act back. Was it good enough? She wasn't sure. They weren't supposed to dance around cops, they were supposed to stun them, knock them out. Not simply play a game of cat and mouse. She moved in, using her body to throw Wisp's arm out of the way and she grabbed his shoulder, hitting a pressure point behind his collarbone Tomahawk had mentioned. In fact, it was that technique that got him the codename: he threw his fingers into that very pressure point like someone would throw a tomahawk into someone's shoulder. It was clever, at least.

The pressure point crippled Wisp. The Elite Officer, she saw, took a note. She looked down at Wisp who was temporarily paralysed, holding a hand out to help him up when he regained his movement. They went back and forth for another hour, dodging one another and throwing one another around when possible.

Then the group was split up again, each person on each other's heels to steal one another's possessions: Pokemon, Pokeyen, wallets, pistols. She saw one person even snap a belt off another person. It made her laugh a little on the inside. Still, she felt like she was on auto-pilot. Oh, this person doesn't notice me, _yoink!_ A tap on the shoulder of the unknowing person to dump their Pokeball back in their hands and off she went, disappearing into the crowd. Not to say she didn't get stolen from, as it happened when she least expected it.

Then they were lined up to take the machine gun test. Odette felt the blood rush from her face. Now or never. She was somewhere in the middle of the line, as far as she could tell, but right in front of her five flatmates. Her stomach churned as they slowly moved forward. _**Taktaktaktak!** _Every second a round of fire would go off. She shook visibly as she stepped to the front and took the machine gun. She looked to the side quickly. Every line was far from each other, for safety reasons, she assumed, but they were on the end. Perfect. No one looked as pale as she felt. She looked back at her friends, then at Giovanni, then her friends. There was no time to think. She stared forward and gave the gun a test run, nearly falling backwards from the recoil. She stumbled backward, before she stood her ground in the gunfire. It was bright. It was _powerful_. Before the officer in front of her could grab the gun she looked at Giovanni quickly.

"Executive... Sir!" She shouted, standing at attention. He glanced over, visibly irritated.

"Yes?" He smirked, "are you scared?" She shook her head, but it felt like it was glued on by rubber cement. She felt so _heavy_.

"I..." she swallowed, closing her eyes. She didn't reopen them as she continued, "these five people are traitors." She felt her body step out of line and turn like a machine. Power surged through her head, the demons lurking within urging her to do it. She faced away from the other line and opened her eyes. Giovanni didn't have time to speak, she could see the look of vague shock on his face, but he hid it well. She lifted the gun and her their eyes widened.

"Odette, please, we were trying to _save_ you!" Candy cried, stepping back in shock.

"We just wanted you to go to your mother!" Sofia pleaded. Weasel continued to smoke his cigarette, his eyes full of hatred.

She laughed, harder than she had laughed in ages. It came out broken, maniacal. It wasn't her laughter. She felt like she was looking down on her body. Everything was on auto-pilot. "Did you hear that, Sir?" She choked out between laughter, her back arching up as she held the gun with a death grip. Gunfire had stopped around her. Everyone was _staring_. "Isn't that _cute?!_" she laughed harder. "They want to save me from a prison that's actually _freedom!_" She no sooner closed her mouth before the gun was firing without her realising what she had done. Her world went blurry and red. She knew their placements perfectly, she could see them fall and she could feel a hand on her shoulder. She would wonder, later, how she didn't kill the people behind them, too. All of her anger came out in her laughter, anger at their insults, anger that they thought she was weak. The gun ran out of bullets and the ringing in her ears died when she regained her senses.

"That's enough," Giovanni said, taking the gun from her weak hands. She stared forward, her eyes glassy.

"They were cowards," she spat, feeling the blood return to her face slowly. "Traitors. I persuaded them to help me," she laughed darkly, "and they went with it, haha, they fucking went with it and they were going to try and overturn Team Rocket. Idiots."

"Return to what you were doing!" She heard Giovanni bark. He had left her side after that moment, leaving her to her own devices. She looked at their corpses, fresh and untouched. The people behind them stared at her with fear, their faces and uniforms splattered with bloody spots. She wiped sweat off her face before she finally uprooted herself and trudged to where people who were finished with the exam sat.

She sat alone, realising she would _be_ alone. Her flat would be empty, except her. She would never have company again, as far as she knew, and yet, she couldn't bring up tears to get upset over it. Her orange eyes looked over the groups of friends with a glaze. Despite her actions, they were back to chatting. She gritted her teeth. Did it mean nothing? She had saved their asses and it meant nothing? She looked over the lines. Her line, at least, seemed to stay away from the corpses. She hoped they would realise she could sniff out traitors.

It was as easy as telling them a sob story and convincing them they could help you. She snarled. They were so easy to persuade. She didn't even care about them. Still, she knew, now, she had committed herself to Team Rocket. There was no going back. How could she go back to normal life when you kill someone? She laughed, clenching her fist. _What kind of ten year old thinks about killing people? _

The lines cleared out swiftly after that, and she only watched them in thought. It wasn't interesting to her, except one kid who fell flat on his ass from the recoil despite having been warned about it. They stood at attention again in their rows, now absent of five people. Odette looked at Giovanni, hoping he was proud of her sniffing them out and getting rid of the problem. Or had she done something out of line, not talking about it to him until then? Well, if that had been the case, wouldn't he have already done something with her? Or, maybe it didn't matter. Five members of an organisation as big as Team Rocket...

"This concludes the exam," Giovanni stated. "We will grade you all on both parts. You will receive your new roles in Team Rocket in a week. You will still have missions during this time and, for now, you will still be treated like trainees. Upon receiving your results, you'll be expected to show up to training in that role the following day. You will receive a location and time. Some of you will have to drastically change your schedules and some of you will already be proficient in your training. Show up anyway." Odette shivered. _It meant nothing, _she thought when he ended his speech minutes later without saying anything about the events.

Of course death meant nothing to Giovanni, not even when a ten-year-old child was the one who was dishing it out. He had seen children younger than her kill without hesitation. Still, Odette had proven, twice now, that when she felt threatened, she exploded like a sentient cannon on the loose. It was a flaw he couldn't overlook. The real question and concern was, how easy would it be to put the girl on a tight leash, to where even when she flew off the handle at other Rocket members who looked at her wrong, she wouldn't _kill them, too? _It was clear what she wanted: recognition. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have called the Executive over to watch her little, gleeful bloodbath. She wasn't a special case, and her little stunt didn't put her anywhere near the instant-promotion list. But, of course, she required special training, a leash, like a dog with a bad case of biting their owner. And there was a special place in Team Rocket for people who began to kill without apparent remorse at such a young age. If nothing else, she made clear where her rightful place in the team was.

Still, Giovanni dreaded the following week. He would be holed up in his flat, wrapped around a laptop, pecking away at keys to put all the grunts where they belonged. And while it was his duty to do so, he dreaded this week every time it came round, for all the members he decided to raise from Dogsbody grunts had to get approval from Madame Boss. And, quite frankly, he wasn't too fond of having to argue his case with Odette: give her a little recognition, then quickly tie the leash and collar to her throat. Team Rocket did not simply promote to train a misbehaved dog (not often, at least), but she had proven she was naturally sick in the head, although Sakaki didn't think she realised it. She was warped, twisted. But, he had always told himself, a mind twisted to the point of broken made moulding the fragments left over as easy as moulding clay into shapes. His mother would disagree. Too much time training meant Team Rocket lost money, and surely, there was a better recruit who was better at pickpocketing than her. Better at stealing Pokemon. Better at making _money. _On top of that, persuasion was Giovanni's forte, and, seemingly, Odette has persuaded those kids into trying to overturn Team Rocket, despite the odds. The girl was a formed sociopath. She could charm kids who were older and her into bending to her will and he had taken note of her lack of breakdown after her murders. She seemed to simply fall into apathy. He wasn't decisive on whether it was due to shock or true apathy. He would have to send a grunt to confirm. Still, Madame Boss was not a fan of simple persuasion - as bright as his mother was she could be right stupid when it came to microeconomics, this was something Giovanni was painfully aware of. A good handful of players who could persuade and charm a grown man into selling his fortunes meant a small punch to Team Rocket initially but a huge fortune when the business was swallowed into Sakaki Corporation. But Madame Boss had no time for persuasive psychopaths. It was going to be a long week.

Odette ended up in an empty flat that night, not sure whether she should relish the fact or be upset. She was neutral towards it, although it meant she got free reign of the food in the cabinets and area for her Pokemon. She sat on a counter, spinning a leftover, empty pack of cigarettes on the surface as she watched her Pokemon. Her mind was relaying the scenes of the day to her. She had, in some way, gotten revenge on Dvina. It put her mind at ease from that day to the current day, the day where she became a cold killer. She crushed the pack under her fist. The looks on their faces, they were blurs in her mind. She could only remember _before_ they were shot. The look of paralysed fear. But they were weak. Traitors. She slipped off the counter and dug into one of the cabinets.

She was starving, she hadn't had food in a while. She poked around, settling on a bag of chips. She flung herself on the couch and watched her Aron run away from Silencer as she ate and she smiled. "Aron," she said, patting the couch. The steel Pokemon looked at her with big blue eyes before jumping on the couch. "I think I got it," she murmured, petting her little metal head. "You'll be Thermite, we learnt about that once from Tomahawk, remember? You eat at metal like hot thermite." The little Pokemon squawked at her and she pet its head. "I've been thinking about it for a while, Thermite... I just had to make sure," she smiled.

* * *

She continued training like normal, though the focus for the week had turned towards training their Pokemon in groups, rather than training their own bodies. The main explanation had been that some of them would go on to not need to train their bodies - they would become hackers, or medical assistance or they would go into human resources. The truth spread like wildfire: Celadon City was going through a police chief rotation and police routes were being observed to make clear maps of safe zones. On top of that, the police chief who was elected in had sworn to crack down on Team Rocket once and for all. The truth in his statement was something that, allegedly, no one was worried about. Odette was terrified, though an older grunt had labouredly informed her that the past two police chiefs had said the _same damn thing_ but they were all too lazy to actually get things done. Celadon City wasn't exactly Saffron City, more like its poor extended family member. It had relaxed Odette quite a bit.

It was exactly seven days later that all the grunts conjugated in the main entrance room of the complex, early in the morning, to observe their standings. Odette felt her stomach drop. If she wasn't promoted after all she had gone through, it meant nothing.

She had never noticed a pair of Spies that had followed her through the city as she had left the apartment on her own. They had watched her every move, wire-tapped her flat (and removed them after the sixth day) and had followed Giovanni's every order to follow her to watch for obvious signs of a breakdown. It never happened. She had somewhat cracked from a lack of human communication and had went out to find something to do and had chatted the ear off of a Pokemart worker, but otherwise, they had noted nothing spectacular. Quite frankly, it was the most boring report Giovanni had had the displeasure to read from them.

She stepped up to the board with a deep breath and her eyes lit up when she saw her promotion, along with another name, her partner: Sabrina. She smiled wide, biting her lower lip. She didn't scream out in joy until she broke through the crowd of eager grunts again. It had meant something! She pumped her fist in the air with a few loud "yes!" screams before she made it back to her flat to tell her Pokemon. She jumped for joy when she saw the sleeping monsters.

"Thermite, Silencer!" She screeched. They looked at her, crying out at her in response. "I did it! I... I impressed Giovanni!" Her eyes sparkled and she fell on the couch, laying on her stomach. "I'm an Agent now..." she smiled wide, hugging herself. "And guess what?"

Silencer screeched at her and Thermite tilted her head. "I'm not just an _Agent_, I'm a fuckin'," she really didn't know when she began to adopt the foul words the other Rockets used, "_Assassin_ Agent." She paused for a long moment in thought. "Well, I'mma scout, too. But... assassin!" She squealed.

She didn't realise how hard the next week would be. Her training was ramped up, and in a smaller group. She was working alongside Tomahawk and Mauler, who were there simply for some freshening up. A Spy was who trained the Agents, and she had to meet her new partner at the end of the week. A partner who was actually scout primarily and assassin as a second choice. She found out why the second day when they sent her an address with her box of Agent uniforms. She packed her few belongings and moved to the new address immediately. It was easier for her than Sabrina, who toted her entire life with her.

Sabrina had a slighter frame than she had, her body type thin and wiry. Her hair was shoulder-length and a blue-black shade, her eyes bright pink. She reminded Odette of a darker Candy, but Sabrina wasn't quite as bubbly. In fact, Sabrina was quiet, and she chopped her sentences up into fragments with long pauses, as if she had to think hard on her next words. On the other hand, she was more than happy to explain why, at the age of twelve, she was in Team Rocket. Due to her psychic powers, which she showed Odette with a drawer full of silverware, her parents had kicked her out. She was becoming too hard to handle at a young age. She had joined Team Rocket by showing a recruiter her powers. It awed Odette.

Still, Odette was far too tired in the evenings to be chatty at all. Training wore her down as the Spy in charge took each Agent, one on one, and pressed them to their limits. She had bruises at every pressure point in her body from the constant jabs against them as the Spy had told her it was to nullify their effects. Over the week, it had begun to show effects. She no longer fell when they hit her in certain areas, her arms simply tingled when she got hit at the pressure points on them. And, on top of that, she was being asked to throw people around who were twice her size. Her natural desire to simply dance and evade had to be trained out of her. Every time they saw her rage build up, they would beat her down before she could use her rage to fuel her movements.

It was the hardest thing she had ever been through in her life.

However, being an Agent was pretty cool, she decided. They got two days in a row off. And the first two days she got off she spent with Sabrina, chatting about why she joined (Sabrina has been in shock for a moment, but she had believed her without being overly pitying. It was a welcome change to Odette) and what each other's Pokemon were like. Sabrina's army of a Kadabra and a Venonat didn't match up to Odette's little Zubat and Aron, but it was a welcome change to the onslaught of Poison types she was used to.

They sat on the rooftop of their complex, staring out over the city on the cold autumn night. The sky was clear and the city was quiet, but it was exactly how they preferred it. "I think we'll work well together," Odette decided, swinging her legs off the side of the building. "With your psychic powers and my..." she paused, unsure of how to put it, "well, my ability to not give a shit about people," she laughed, "I think it works."

Sabrina chuckled with her, petting her Venonat. "Hopefully... if it doesn't, then there's something wrong."

"Hey," Odette asked quietly, tapping her index fingers together in thought, "could you maybe train me in some of your powers..?"

"I can... try? I think it comes naturally," Sabrina murmured in return. "But I can try, Odette."

The rusty-haired girl shuddered, grimacing. "Look... don't call me that."

"Eh? But that's your na-"

"Not. Anymore." Odette stressed, clenching her fists by her side. She looked at her partner with a mixed look of frustration and exasperation. "I... that's the name _before._ When I was weak and normal. I..." she paused, letting the wind eat her words. She had done some research on a public computer the past week for a codename. There had been a couple she had seen, but one stuck out in her mind. She had wanted a codename and, realising she would likely need one to be an Agent, she had researched hard for one. "Call me Aquila."

"...Aquila?"

"It means eagle," she explained quietly. "I can't stand the name Odette anymore." Sabrina nodded thoughtfully.

"I can call you that, then, Aquila," she said with a small smile.

* * *

It wasn't long after training, which took three months in total, that Aquila and Sabrina were assigned their groups of grunts and it took the two younger girls a bit of time to get people who were older than them to obey their orders and to train the new grunts in the ways they had been trained. Aquila had watched her partner with interest. She took no hits hard in their sparring with the grunts due to setting up a psychic field around her body. Sure, Sabrina wasn't an assassin, but the grunts had to be trained in _general_ things. Their training was far more advanced and Aquila and Sabrina hardly saw each other during the days during Agent training. It wasn't until they were training their grunts together they began to truly work together.

"We are Agents in scouting," Sabrina told the grunts the first day, "so we're going to be a bit more focused on scouting with you guys. But, there are general things we have to teach you, to train you for any track you can go into."

"I'm also an assassin," Aquila stated afterwards, adjusting her white collar with black-gloved hands, "so I'll be training you to spar. We can both teach you the fundamentals with theft, pickpocketing and robbery." She smiled darkly. "At the end of your training with us, you'll be assorted by what you know best, so any knowledge you have can be useful."

They had worked hard to train the grunts under them, although Aquila had to explain that just because they could throw _her_ over their shoulder, they'd struggle against a cop. Every once and a while, she would ask Tomahawk or Mauler if they could help to prove her point. There was always someone who just didn't get it, she felt. Of course, when grown men fell in front of her from good hits, it helped her point alone. She would tower over them and glare when they fell. It was a good feeling to look down at a twenty-year-old who had tried to defy her just because she was small.

After a long time, they had their first mission and she and Sabrina would track their group as they went around pickpocketing people. It was always the first mission, handed down by a Spy to the group, they found out. And, of course, as scouts, they had become decent at tracking people down. During the event, Aquila had remembered how, so long ago, she had been one of those people out there, in a grunt uniform, stealing from people for the first time. It was strange to her. At that time she was still considering taking the team down. Now, she went to salute proudly.

She wondered how many other people joined up with the intent to take the organisation down, only to forget how they existed without the organisation's power. It was ultimate freedom, she would often say to Sabrina as she watched kids walk to school in their little uniforms, anxious about exams and their studies. It was a whole other world. She no longer missed it or longed for it, and, anyway, she had her own tests to take. Tests that were bigger, riskier and either led to riches or half their grunts being arrested. Every time that happened she would feel guilt. It happened fewer times as time progressed. Over time, the Spy who trained them had beaten the angry spells out of her, she had noticed. If it seemed like she was about to do something stupid or drastic, her superior would knock her out before she could.

Two years after their initial promotion, they were promoted again to Spies. The two girls, twelve and fourteen, had indulged themselves to a rather fancy restaurant in Vermillion City and had headed home. It was then that Aquila pressed Sabrina, for the millionth time, to teach her some of her psychic power. It was then that Sabrina cracked.

"Okay, alright!" She snapped, grabbing a spoon off the counter and putting it on the table with a flat hand. "We'll start small." She sat in a chair, arms crossed over her chest.

Aquila perched on the other chair, grabbing the spoon in her hand with a light grip. "So..?"

"Concentrate and..." Sabrina looked at the ceiling in concentration, "just concentrate and try and bend the spoon to your will."

Aquila stared at her for a moment before trying to do as she said. She sat for ten minutes, staring hard at the piece of silverware while Sabrina watched on with an amused grin. "I _told_ you, it's _natural ability_, you won't be able to do anything."

Aquila growled, "it's the damn tv." She knitted her eyebrows together as Sabrina turned it off.

"Better?"

"Better."

It had been a lie, of course. Aquila was used to background noise: the city around them wasn't exactly silent at any time of the day or night. It had almost become a hobby to count the number of wrecks outside the base, as if the building had a curse around it that made people go insane. The sound of cars and their honking and crashing at day, drunk grunts returning to the base or outside in the streets at night. She sat back after a moment and sighed.

"Try and... think of something to piss you off. And imagine that... that spoon is what's saying it or doing it," Sabrina added helpfully. Her tone, however, was of pure boredom.

"I... okay." Aquila muttered, trying to imagine the spoon as Dvina and the base of the circular dip as his neck. Another ten minutes with gritted teeth and angry eyes, but nothing happened. The spoon wouldn't budge. She dropped it, sitting back and sighing.

"If you're going to just give up why did you bother asking me?" Sabrina snapped, leaning forward. "Keep trying if you're going to keep bothering me!"

Aquila sighed in return, continuing, with no results, for another hour. By the time she gave up entirely, Sabrina was gone, leaving her to her own devices.

Over the next few years Aquila kept trying, between her work shifts. Every couple days she would grab a spoon and try and give up within an hour. All the while she worked in the daytime to climb the ranks and bury normal life further. And yet, over the years, she became more bloodthirsty and her angry outbursts would become more violent. And yet, she was shocked. Over the years she narrowly escaped imprisonment time and time again: someone would help her out or she would outwit the cops at their own game. She was driven away from them by her desire to evade her mother. It was, of course, long-gone since the days people would remember the little nine year old girl had ever been lost. She was hardly a memory in anyone's mind anymore.

It was her sixteenth birthday when her life propelled forward. She was promoted, coincidental that she became a high-ranked officer on her birthday, of course, it wasn't like Giovanni delivered her promotion on a golden platter with a birthday cake, and she finally exploded in their flat with enough anger to bend the damn spoon she had practiced on for three and a half years. All because Sabrina stormed out on her birthday in anger because Aquila was moving out, due to a change in her position. She was no longer a scout, she was to be moved to another base and was going to take up medical. She wasn't sure why they hadn't put her there in the first place, other than the fact that a ten year old wouldn't have the _best_ hands to work on someone's live body. Still, her excitement over the news had put her psychic friend in disarray. Sabrina had become painfully close to her, and she reacted as if her world collapsed around her.

Aquila didn't get it.

She put the bent spoon on Sabrina's pillow with a note that simply said "I did it" in scrawled letters. She packed her things, far more than she had come in with now that she got paid, and left without waiting for Sabrina's return. It wasn't worth it anymore when they would just argue about her promotion. Not that Sabrina _hadn't_ got a promotion, as well, but she was still a scout. And, in retrospect, they would have been separated anyhow, as Aquila was primarily an assassin, not a scout. She left with an angry expression as she pulled a large box behind her into the elevator.

Her new home was further away, a different base in the center of Celadon. She arrived in the evening, paying the taxi driver a larger tip than she normally would out of frustration. He had dealt with her chatting his ear off about her friend problems, anyway. It was worth a bit of extra change to her. His face upon receiving an extra ten thousand Pokeyen was only somewhat worth it.

Over the years she had grown into a different body She was still thin, though she, at least, had somewhat of a chest now. She had gloated about it at first to Sabrina before realising the girl was far more curvy than she was and she had proceeded to shut up about it altogether. Her hair was longer, to her waist now, her eyes filled with darkness, she had noticed over time. She could no longer remember being a child. She couldn't say her life had changed over the past six years more than it did when she was recruited, she had only been pushed forward, from grunt to High-Rank. Still, she had obtained a new addition to her team, a Haunter she had christened Stalker, who cackled in the night. It was a habit she was quick to adopt for herself, and his dark little cackles made her smile. She had stumbled upon the Pokemon on a mission in Lavender Town and he had followed her through the town the whole time. Her other two Pokemon had evolved into Golbat and Lairon.

She dragged her box through a locked door into a room with the lights off. Her new partner seemed to be gone and she sighed in relief. It wasn't that she wasn't ready to meet him or her, but she did prefer to unpack and get a little comfortable before she did. She had been told that, if everything worked out as a medic, she would be with this person for the rest of her career, unless either of them moved out into their own place. She couldn't imagine trying to rent her own home, however. She just hoped they would work together.

She was in the middle of unpacking when she heard his voice.

"Monoxide," the voice was a bit scared and, _oops, I forgot to lock the door back_, "go check it ou-"

"Woah, woah," she screeched, leaving her once-empty room, waving her gloved hands in the air. "Woah, no, I'm the new High-Ranked Officer, you know, Aquila," she cried, looking at the Koffing who rolled in the air in confusion as to what to do. Just like she thought, the guy had sent his Koffing to smog her out if she was an intruder.

The guy behind his Pokemon grabbed the Koffing from the air, holding the purple ball of fumes to his chest. "Ohhh," he said softly, drawing the word out. His eyes were droopy and purple, though Aquila could hardly tell with his pupils as dilated as they were. His back was hunched, and he was in no rush to straighten himself out. And he was _tall,_ he towered over her frame, at least twenty centimetres taller than her without straightening his back. His hair was purple and spiked straight up in the air. He reeked of chemicals. As if remembering his own name he said quickly, "I'm Petrel."

Aquila sighed in relief, looking at the Koffing who still looked ready to use Smog at any moment and she took a step back. Petrel was at least a couple years older than her, she could tell, but his belt stored scalpels, a make-up brush and a tube of blue liquid that she could only identify as anti-bacterial liquid. His uniform was black, like hers, but he had a white lab coat draped over it. "You work in medical?" She asked, pointing his belt out.

"...Mostly. They have me as a drug producer and assassin, too." He rolled his eyes upward in annoyance. "Perks of being born into the organisation." Aquila's eyes widened.

"You were _born_ into this?" He nodded, looking tired.

"Born and raised, second generation." He chuckled, letting his Koffing float into the air with a soft pet. "Now, uh, I smell like meth, I'm gonna go shower." With that, they separated into their rooms (he had taken the master bedroom, naturally), her to unpack and him to wash the stench of chemicals away.

* * *

**A/N: Starts out fast, info-dumps into your hair. Just like a drunk guy. Shit, I could have used that as a funny disclaimer. Too late now!  
**

**This is the biggest time jump and info dump chapter, and, well, I'm sure everyone's tired of 'months had passed' and 'it was a few years later' and all that jazz. But Aquila can't stay young forever. And, well, the time between 'oh, I've been promoted!' and 'oh, now I'm a High-Ranked Officer!' would be horribly boring. I could try and write some fluff between (you know, making up missions and stuff), but I'm not the 'filler' type. While things like Thermite and Silencer evolving and Stalker's arrival could be kind of cool, I decided that one big info-dump would be less boring. Seriously. Plus, there's a time for filler. AND DAT TIME AIN'T NOW. Next chapter won't be so jumpy (and there should only be a couple more jumps between years between now and the end, and, let me tell you, this is going to be a LONG fanfiction. I mean, I'm seeing something like forty or more chapters, so stick with it even if these time jumps aggravate you) and there will be more action in general~ But a chapter of info dump happens.  
**

**Every good story has to have the info-dump chapter, lol. Some stories, there are entire books that are info-dump chapters.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Once there was a disclaimer that disclaimed. This disclaimer was so disclaim-y, it died. The end.**

* * *

Her Elite Officer was a total dick. It didn't help that his codename was Javelin.

High-Ranked Officer was nothing like Agent or Spy - long-gone were the days of training people or being trained. It was the next night and already they were on a mission. And it wasn't exactly the most fun mission Aquila had ever thought to be in, in her life. No, the plan was to infiltrate the Vermillion City police station, by sneaking in or by force, whichever happened, all because an Executive by the name of some Matis Surge wanted the empty gym that they currently stood behind to get more darkness by the full moon's shadow. Surge, it appeared, had been quite the punky teenager in his day with a pretty record that stained his chances of election by the International Police. It was their job to grab the physical files from that police station. A hacking group had already seeped into the digital records. The sooner they could get out with his files, the better.

To make matters even worse, a tropical storm was quickly approaching the southern town. The wind whipped Aquila's hair around her face and made it hard to hear her comrades.

They were taking a smoke break, of which Aquila didn't partake in. She hadn't really become acquainted with the other members of the squad, as Javelin had been quick to inform them that they had no time to chat. He walked faster than most trainers rode their bicycles, she had noticed. She was watching the cops dart from the building to their cars, from their cars to the building. They moved as quickly as the waves on the windy night. She wondered if they were having to take part in any form of action to board up some of the more vulnerable buildings. She wondered if crime picked up when the weather turned shitty. If she was being honest, too, she had no interest in listening to her comrades. Go into a dark window, send some people to find the file and then get the hell out. Why were these more experienced members making things so _complicated?_

"Okay, Raticate," she heard as a flash of light hit her eyes. The rat huddled down to brace itself against the cold sea wind. "Look," the man, with his raspy voice, showed the large rat the map they had, "go here," he pointed, "see that large black box? Go eat up those wires for us, then run into the forest. I'll come back for you, okay?" The rat didn't need any more orders, it bounded out of the darkness and into the moonlight with gnashing teeth. It was five minute later when the lights shut down and a hoard of cops fled the building to find out the issue. With their bend around a corner, Javelin made a motion and they leapt forward, dashing to the building.

The group of seven quickly shoved themselves into a window and snapped it closed, waiting with open ears for any intruder alerts. Javelin held back a chuckle. "Idiots don't even know how to set up alarms..." he moved to the door, peering out a gap before motioning for the others to follow and spread out. It had already been discussed: the moment someone found Surge's files, they would send a notification out on the Pokegears to the other six and everyone would flee.

Aquila, naturally, got the easy path. She landed on the second floor, a floor that was dominated by day shifters, financial officers and the type. She let her Haunter out of his Pokeball and immediately motioned for him to stay quiet. The ghost understood and she directed him to drift through walls and around corners so she would know where she was going. She knew, of course, that Surge's file wouldn't be up here: criminal files would never be so daftly unattended like this hallway. Still, she looked through filing cabinets anyway. She never found a single Surge, but she did stumble upon her own missing person's record. She rolled the folder stamped Odette Kobayashi up and stashed it in her belt for later. Now if only she could get all the files with her name to magically disappear.

It wasn't long before her Pokegear vibrated once against her side and she darted out the nearest window, rolling on the floor as she landed. She ran into the woods immediately, pulling her sweaty, white gloves off immediately when she met up with her comrades. "Can you believe it?" It was Raticate guy. "This Surge guy. He's from Unova."

"I always wondered why his accent was weird as fuck," Javelin muttered as they trudged north.

"I can't believe Madame Boss would ever promote an Unovian guy to Executive," another person said, "she's such a traditionalist, I didn't think she'd even promote someone from _Johto_ above Agent." He chuckled.

"That old bitch is crazy as hell, she's unpredictable," another girl said, laughing with him.

"Don't let her hear you say that though," Javelin retorted. "You'd get demoted faster than you could throw your keys at her face."

"Oh, I wouldn't, I'm not a _total_ idiot," she whined, throwing her hair back with her hand.

* * *

Little did Madame Boss know that Giovanni had outwitted her for good this time. He had sent all the Elite Officers off, away with their crews to find something to do for the night, or, better yet, work on their list of chores the Executive had thrown at them months ago. It wasn't like he couldn't think up even more things for them to do that night, but he had sent them off with strict orders not to bother him. He had, however, lied about the night's events. He had joked about something to the extent of having an unsuspecting member get caught in his trap, something about not getting laid for a while and that he had his eye on a pretty little redhead from somewhere deep in the human resource division. The truth was, he had business to attend to. Business that was long overdue.

And without the Elite Officers around to be called in to guard, without them poking their nose in places they didn't belong, he had his mother cornered. It had been four years ago that he had moved headquarters of Team Rocket and secured the Celadon City Game Corner. It was perfect: everyone knew the games were already rigged from the time the shabby old building had been built and Giovanni had received a report from a watchful scout that he saw the rarely-seen owner of the casino emerge from a hidden door. The scout wasn't sure what was behind the door, but it had peaked Giovanni's interest to the point the man made it his mission for months to corner the man and ask him about it. He almost had to mentally torture the man before the old guy would even _admit_ his scout was correct. It right pissed Giovanni off.

But once the old man cracked about that, Giovanni drove the wedge in further. Unbeknownst to the players who sat at their colourful slots, behind the glass cabinet full of prizes that they, too, could win if they just sat at the right machine, was a door that led to a three floor bunker. It was a bunker that the man had built upon building the game corner, where no noise or scent would drift through the thick, reinforced ceiling. The batshit insane old man wasn't doing anything with it, other than using it in case of "inevitable bombs", his delusions told him, delusions he had convinced himself to believe and it made Giovanni drive further into him. It took a large chunk of Pokeyen to get the man to part with it, along with some other forms of persuasion, but eventually, the Executive had secured the building. Underneath the bright-lights of rigged machines, under the asses of gambling addicts, was the location of Kanto's largest drug production facility.

Giovanni was really proud of his find.

And better yet, it had his mother's office in a nice little corner, all alone. All that was needed was a lift key and a card key and the old bitch was good as cornered. He smirked with gritted teeth in the elevator down to her office, his fist clenching a bouquet of orange and withered white roses. Orange, for the desire of her position. White, withered and falling apart, to show she had left no impression on him his entire life. It was a perfect bouquet, he decided. One nice thing for the old woman, right?

He walked into her office, staring down at her. She didn't look up until he stood right in front of the desk and, upon seeing the flowers, she dropped her pen on the files she was filling out. It was another thing that drove Giovanni up the wall: the woman was unable to embrace technology, in any form. She complained it wasn't secure, that physical files were more secretive and easier to destroy than virtual files. That anyone could hack into the system. No matter how often he got the hacker Executive to explain to her that he could make it almost impossible, no matter how often he explained his crew made new programs all the time for protection, it meant nothing to the adamant Boss. He had quit with a pat on Giovanni's shoulder and a "sorry, you're on your own now".

The moment his hand moved to his belt she grabbed her own pistol, and they exchanged an emotionless look at one another. Time seemed to stretch on forever, but it was only a few seconds before he shot and she jumped up, throwing her chair back and rolling out of the way to the floor. He cursed, dropping the flowers on her desk, looking at her position. She began to hoist herself up and he moved quickly, putting one foot on her arm and shifting his weight upon it.

The sound and feeling of the bone being pulverised under his foot was ultimate power. Her scream of agony made him smile.

He pointed the gun at her, his eyes narrowing. "Sorry, mother," he started, pulling the hammer back to cock the pistol, "you're too old for this organisation. Too oblivious." He waved his free hand at the lack of guards around her. She stared up at him. If her look could kill, he would be a corpse on the floor. The hand that had once gripped her gun was useless.

"Do it, you dirty bastard."

And he did. And it was satisfying. The gunshot echoed in the soundproof room. He turned, walking to the chair and pulling it forward. He grabbed his Pokegear from his pocket and adjusted his lapels on his suit as it rang. "Oh, yes, Archer. Bring some of your grunts to the Boss's office. We need to have a chat."

* * *

"Wait, he did _what?!_" She asked, in a tone a bit too loud for the current situation. Aquila and Petrel had maneuvered their way into the slums of Saffron City, to a greasy little hole-in-the-wall diner that the purple-haired High-Ranked Officer had sworn to her was owned by Team Rocket themselves. The people who frequented, however, were not. Their blue-collared uniforms matched their surroundings, their worth as obvious as their names stitched upon their chests. It was her first time in her home town in years, and, as they had slipped through the streets, she had noticed not a single thing had changed. How disappointing.

She had spent the entire day asleep, having finished the mission late into the night and having stayed up even later. She had burned her file in the sink, which had made her partner jump around and scream at her for being an insane bitch. He had eventually shoved her out of the way of the kitchen fire and turned the tap on to drench the ashes. She had had her anxiety attack behind him, her breath coming in shallow hitches. It had freaked the nineteen year old Officer further, but there was nothing he could do to stop her shakes. He could only watch as she grabbed her head with her nails and he eventually had to pry her hands away when he saw blood. He had let her sleep the whole twelve hours away. It was now evening, but the sun stayed strong in the summer's wake.

"Shhhh," Petrel hissed, leaning over his fries. "He totally offed his ma, yo. We got the memo while you were asleep. There is no Madame Boss. This crazy shit from supplies, Archer, he took over Giovanni's slot. Guess Giovanni got tired of her insults or somethin'." Aquila stared at him as he ate a greasy fry.

"Wait, so... our boss is Giovanni now," she deadpanned.

"Yeah, that's what it's lookin' like," Petrel replied, his purple eyes glancing around the room. No one was paying them any attention. "I mean, we all knew... but offing your own ma, I mean..." he grabbed his cheeseburger, taking a bite.

"Well, I would too," she said darkly in a low tone, "if my mom was always talking shit about me, I would too." She took a bite of her own greasy burger. Petrel had insisted on it, but it only made her wonder how much he was just a sucker for grease. It wasn't that grand of a burger. Maybe he had some sentiment or something, but she wasn't too fond of the amount of grease. She knew it would tear her intestines up in the morning, too. Still, he was paying, and it would be rude to discard it.

"I guess." He shrugged the thought away. "But he's made some drastic changes. All the paperwork we have will be destroyed in a week. The whole organisation," he sighed, "is gonna be busy converting it all to digital files. I can't even... do you know how many files are in the medical wing?" He didn't let her answer. "_Tons_. Every Rocket who's been through there has a file. This is gonna _suck_." He grabbed his drink, sucking up thick chocolate milkshake through the cheap plastic straw. It bulged.

"So where's her body..?" She asked quietly. He choked on his liquefied ice cream.

"Dude." She waited for his coughing to subside. "What the hell..." he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and lowered his tone. "It was pretty... Giovanni doesn't give a damn about her. We got her body last night. We soaked her in some chemicals that just... it smelled..." He didn't finish and Aquila grimaced.

"Yeah, I bet," she whispered, grabbing a fry and chewing on it, bit by bit. She decided to change the subject, "we have the weekend off, but, you know..." she frowned, "I don't have training in medical and... well, yeah." She finished awkwardly. Asking someone to take their time off to train her in something so in-depth wasn't something she wanted to do. Petrel only smiled.

"Yeah, sure, I'll teach you some shit, but I hope you're a fast learner."

They spent the next two days in the Rocket hospital, which spanned five floors of the base they lived at. They were severely understaffed - anyone who had to work that weekend was pulling double-duty between patients and typing like lightning on laptops to move files. They look exhausted. The medical Executive was more than happy to see Petrel in at work that weekend despite him not being scheduled. He swore to pay the Officer for the weekend.

Petrel basically had a "you watch, I do what I do" policy when it came to teaching and Aquila struggled to keep up with him. He explained things, of course, but he didn't linger long on explaining before he engrossed himself in dealing with the patients in question. She was awestruck at the speed he moved people in and out. Eventually, on the second day, he let her be a little more hands on, allowing her to apply bandages and even some shots (but only to unconscious patients). Despite the fact the teenager's usual lazy movements, he could be quite swift when working. She had only seen him at their home, where he lazed around and shifted around in slow movements, as if he was either perpetually high, and he was, or an old tortoise who was being kicked in the ass to move off a road from an incoming car. When he was engrossed in work, he moved swiftly, despite the fact that when he went on break he always smoked a joint, then a cigarette. She wondered if being quick or slow was more natural to him, but he never seemed to change his general demeanour no matter what. He would joke with patients and laugh like a Mightyena with them.

She really admired his talents with people. Despite their obvious pain, he would lightly hit them in a place where they didn't hurt and crack jokes and they would smile. And he would break them into laughing with him over their own pain. He was as dangerously persuasive as her, she found out.

They were about to pack up their things and leave when Petrel was stopped by his superior and told to stay put. They lingered for a moment before a Spy was rolled in, their condition bad. She stood back, watching her comrade work quickly over his new patient. The Spy in question was, apparently, someone Petrel knew, a Spy under him even. It only made him work faster.

"Oi, come'ere," he spat, ushering her over. "Hold this," he motioned and she held back her retch, holding back a thick flap of flesh for Petrel. He dug in deep, performing surgery without questions to his superior. Still, it was the most Aquila had been allowed to do and she watched with a mix of horror and awe as Petrel worked like a professional, his eyes knitted in concentration. When the heart monitor picked up a normal speed and the Spy was sewed back up he pulled his face mask off, his smile wide. "Thank _fuck._"

Aquila smiled with him, "good job!" They high-fived before stripping their gloves off to wash themselves off. She couldn't understand why Petrel wasn't an Elite Officer yet. Maybe she was just in awe because he seemed so professional to her, despite being a guy with a purple mohawk performing surgery on an older guy as if he had gone to medical school for it. She grimaced. It seemed so much more intensive than her own track. Assassin was _easy._

After that they were free to leave and they leisurely made their way back to their flat, arriving to find a file shoved under the door. It was demolished, she noticed as Petrel snatched it up. He opened it and looked over it, smoothing out papers as he went. Four days of the week they would be working together, doing their jobs as assassin or medical, while the fifth they were separated. Petrel would disappear into the game corner for a long shift of production while Aquila was scheduled to build up some green-haired kid named Lance. There was, on the stapled papers lingering behind their schedule, a picture and profile of him. He was twelve, with a beaming shit-eating grin and a track record of some dirty things that made Aquila cringe. _At five, _the time she was in a cell, she realised as she shuddered, _he had hidden the murder of his sister, drowning her in the bathtub as his mother had left him to watch her for a few moments. At nine, he had killed his single mother with a knife. Between then he satiated his bloodlust on animals. _The file went into more detail afterwards and it made her pale. She could see why Giovanni wanted the boy to have special attention.

The kid was absolutely loony.

Giovanni had found and captured him on the streets where he had fled to from an orphanage a year ago and had lingered on the boy for a year in a holding cell to get him to talk. He was more than happy to detail how the murders went, his fuse between brain and mouth fried from chattering on about morbid events in his life. His green eyes showed his lunacy better than the report did. Still, it had taken Giovanni a year to decide what to even do with the violent child, keeping a hands-off approach with him and being unable to enter the cell, lest Lance lash out and attack him. Aquila knew her boss wasn't scared of the kid, but she wasn't sure how she would fair with him despite this. Then again, perhaps it had been Madame Boss who had put her foot down on the kid.

Aquila groaned and threw the profile at Petrel, who laughed. "Sounds like you got a nice one," he said, tossing the report on the counter among a pile of other papers. Nice was one way to say it. She wasn't too eager to meet the little punk. She wondered why Giovanni had picked her to train him up. Even she wasn't as crazy as Lance. Did Giovanni think she was?

She found out as soon as she met Lance at the end of the week. Yes, Giovanni absolutely thought they'd be a great team. She was tired, drained from learning the medical field during the nights and cramming her brain from his books during her downtime (much to Petrel's chagrin, as she would disappear every time he offered something exciting to do) and going on missions with her partner the other two nights of the week. Her brain was heavy with so much new knowledge and the medical Executive had been quick to inform her that she'd have to learn as quickly as possible to keep the position. He didn't tell her how fast. Just "fast".

Lance was absolutely too high-strung to deal with on her fifth workday, she decided instantly. He never shut up, chattering about how Team Rocket accepted him as one of their own and how murder felt so liberating. Even during sparring (where she had made the boy set his knife aside) he didn't seem to lose breath to keep talking. And yet, Aquila found it absolutely boring. He already knew what he was doing ("that's what livin' on the street will do for ya!" he said with his thick Johto accent) and she found herself evading his movements more and more as the night trudged onward. They took a break at three in the morning, sitting in the clearing they had chosen, to eat. Lance had let his Zubat flap around to stretch its wings and she let her Golbat out to meet the younger Pokemon. Lance's Zubat, unlike himself, was shy, keeping its distance from Silencer.

"So, what _don't_ you know how to do?" She asked between bites of her hastily made sandwich. She ate around the edges to keep the insides where they belonged. It didn't really work.

Lance paused, staring at his own sandwich with a thoughtful expression before he shrugged. "I don't know how ta kill someone when they know I'm comin'." Aquila sighed. "And," he added somewhat sheepishly, "I guess I don't know how ta get money. Or use a computer." It made her laugh and she bit down on her cheek to keep from spewing sandwich everywhere. It was so innocent in comparison to everything he knew how to do. It took her a moment to choke down her food.

"How did you live on the street without knowing how to get money?" She just ignored the last part. He'd figure it out.

Again, he paused for a long moment and shrugged, finishing his sandwich in the stretch of silence. "You don't have ta know that, people'd give you food if you're a kid." Duh. Of course. She felt like she needed to slap herself in the face for not realising it.

"You'll figure it out. I'll show you how to get money... and anyway, you're gonna rise up fast," she said with a shrug. "Giovanni really likes you, kid."

"Really?" The twelve-year-old beamed and she nodded. "_Cool. _You mean... you mean I could be an admin in-"

"_Agent_, Lance, Agent, not admin," she corrected.

"...I could be an _Agent_," he said the word in a condescending tone, "in, like, a coupla months?"

"Yeah, maybe, if you prove yourself enough..." she paused in thought. She would have to be part of the crew who filed his paperwork to Giovanni for promotion. "You'll have to prove you can do it to me and the other people training you."

"Oh, okay."

By the time Aquila had finished eating, she was watching Lance reunite with his knife and train against his Zubat, telling it to dodge his movements. The kid had a scary sense of himself. Every time she was sure the little Zubat's life was going to come to an end, he would stop short and, had it not been so dark out, she would have seen tiny little hairs fall off the Pokemon's body. He genuinely seemed to want to keep his bat partner with him, despite his usual demeanour of apathy towards life. He fascinated her, if only because she didn't understand what was going on in his twisted mind. She wondered if she was quite as crazy as him, if she wouldn't be scared to strike Golbat in the side with her knife.

"I have an idea," she said suddenly, removing a scalpel from her belt. "Since you seem to be used to your knife, maybe you can train me." The grunt's teal eyes widened. "I don't know how to use a knife, only a gun. But I never really had anyone to teach me, either." She slipped the hard, protective plastic off the blade and gripped it in her hand until it felt comfortable to her, the blade facing outwards towards the grunt, but facing towards her elbow.

"But Javelin would kill m-"

"Fuck Javelin," she hissed, walking towards him, "this one is on me. And no one has to know. I'm medical." She tapped the blade on her arm with a movement of her wrist. Of course, the smaller blade was nothing like Lance's hunting knife and was designed for precise strikes. Then again, she had decided in the moment, she was used to precise movements. That's how it worked when she was trained at ten and twelve to take down men who were triple her size. Precise movements were far more important to a smaller figure.

Lance still looked uncomfortable and she knew it wasn't due to thoughts of hurting her for being his superior or for being a female, like normal boys in Kanto and Johto were trained to believe. She could tell he was uncomfortable because he wanted the promotion as bad as she had at his age. The taste of promotion wasn't quite as sweet anymore, but she could still remember how it felt to be promoted to Agent, then Spy. Her time was coming to a close and promotion was getting harder to reach to her. She could hardly even smell Elite Officer, no less Executive. The only way she'd rank up any time soon was due to pure luck - a large group of Elite Officers being arrested, for example. She moved in before she dashed towards him to break him of his discomfort.

The effect was immediate. He moved to block the tiny blade from hitting him, using his knife to deflect. Aquila was, once again, stunned at his ability to move and guide his hand without doing things in a stupid manner as he moved in, putting his blade, pressed hard enough to his own arm to create a white outline, to her neck, touching the skin just enough for her to feel its cold metal. She froze, looking down at him with fear for a moment before she realised he was smiling in a gleeful manner. He removed the knife quickly.

She never won against him once, but she progressively got closer to a victory the closer the sun came to Kanto to break the night. Only once would she come close, only to realise his knife was pressed into her ribs. Sure, she may have slit his neck, but he would have punctured her lung. It was nothing but a draw and she sighed as she stepped away and looked at the pale purple sky. "We should finish up," she said softly, recapping her scalpel and stowing it away. Lance nodded, but he was still beaming.

"We should do that again!" he cried, putting his knife in its holder. "That was awesome!"

Aquila smiled, "maybe. But I'm supposed to be training _you_. I'll teach you some things I've learnt. Okay?" He nodded and they separated to head back to their bases. He was crazy, but he wasn't all that bad, at least. He was a bit more chatty than she would prefer and a little too arrogant, but she was sure she could teach him to be a little more humble. It had shocked her he had admitted he was bad at anything at all. Everything she had mentioned he had huffed and said he could already do. Perhaps it was just his natural defence.

"So how did it go?" Petrel asked the moment she walked through the door into their smoke-filled apartment. He was sitting behind two stacks of file folders, his head dipped below them and into a laptop screen. His cigarette hung out of his mouth, but he didn't seem to actually be smoking it. He glanced up at her when she sat across from him and sighed.

"It went fine, but he's a hyper little shit," she complained, putting her head on her arms. She was only a little envious of Petrel, who was still entrenched in work but who looked massively comfortable in civilian clothing. She had no energy to get up and change, she knew if she did it would only lead her into bed. Instead she glanced at the laptop screen curiously. "How much more you got?"

"The smaller stack," he said, waving his cigarette at it. "We're just about done with all of it."

"Any idea how much Giovanni has done?"

Petrel laughed darkly, poking the keys blindly. "I've heard he hoarded away some cocaine or some shit to work through the whole week. Days at Viridian Gym and his business, nights on this shit." He shook his head. "Fucker is crazy. Shit." He turned away to fix some typos he had made. She got up to leave him alone, giving him a short good night. She would help him, if only she had a laptop of her own. She took a mental note to buy one with her next pay stub.

* * *

The next day they were slammed with an undesired notice to fall into line with a mission that had gone in disarray. Petrel had led her to a garage and, with a panicked huff here and there, had managed to hotwire a car into coming to life. The perks of being a second generation Rocket indeed. They drove into the frenzy of Vermillion City and Aquila groaned when they saw the issue.

They had already been informed that Javelin had had to take on Executive Surge's duties as he had fled the scene to evade the cops, the Vermillion Gym in jeopardy of not landing in his lap neatly if he didn't. Grunts were scattered about and, as they ditched the car in the woods on the far end, they were met with the sight of a grunt being tackled into the ground, his face eating sand. They had a collective wince. The cop on top of him arrested him smoothly and dragged him away, his glasses in shatters on his face.

It was a clusterfuck Aquila wasn't accustomed to. Girls and women in ropes were being corralled away from the ship they had been taken into, a large cruise ship that allegedly stopped somewhere south of Unova. Cops were all over the scene and she could only vaguely spot Khalij behind a towering Muk that swallowed a Growlithe alive. Other members of Javelin's fleet that they recognised were swooping in, their Pokemon by their side. Aquila released her Lairon and Haunter and Petrel surrounded himself with Koffings. Their mission wasn't to take the cops out, but, rather, to save as many members as possible and flee. She could feel her partner's anxiety beside her, despite his tell-tale dilated pupils. The hunched boy wasn't the best assassin, she knew.

They ran forward to jump into the fray and she immediately grabbed a slow male's arm to drag him away. The grunt followed her, a lumbering male who was clearly unable to work out what was even happening. She knew he wasn't aware Team Rocket, despite their best efforts, could fail too. He returned his Drowzee with a loud shout as they ran away from the scene. "Stay here..." she hissed in the shadows of an alleyway. He nodded, his stony grey eyes filled with fear. She left him in the alley to capture more members and stopped short as she grabbed two Agents and pulled them behind her.

It was Petrel. He danced around a pair of cops, shrieking obscenities at them as his Koffings filled the air with light-breaking smog. She could hear the coughs of the officers, ill-equipped to deal with the Pokemon that lurked far from the town in a normal situation. Petrel, she noticed, was used to their fumes, or perhaps he was good at holding his breath. He stood deathly still in their smoke, only moving to slide his pistol out. She turned, looking at the Agents. "Just run. North. Go." She ran opposite of them, jumping beside her partner and pulling her own pistol out beside him, shoving herself up to his arm with a shiver. She had never touched him, not even once.

Shit, she still triple-checked the bathroom lock when she showered. There was still a tiny part of her that was scared of men. But now wasn't the time to be concerned with that. They looked at each other, her face red from lack of air and nodded, aiming and shooting the cops down who were in the middle of ordering Growlithes to attack. It wasn't until she heard Petrel scream in agony that she breathed in and choked on the noxious air around her. Lairon moved forward behind her, her heavy footfalls trudging into the scene as she attacked the swift Growlithe.

When the smog dissipated she realised Petrel had grabbed her shoulder, his weight shifted to one leg. The other leg was covered in blood and she grimaced. They would have to be quick; the poisonous air of his Koffings had only made the situation worse. Still, they stood together, barking orders to grunts and Agents to evacuate while Haunter cackled around their heads. He would point and chatter, his red eyes pinpointing on cops who were aiming. They would work together to shoot at the targets Stalker pointed out. Still, the cops seemed to respawn around them. It was only when the situation was beginning to get free of Rockets that they moved to the north, slower than she would have liked. There was no time to reload.

She whipped around, leaving her partner as she heard a laugh behind her and she gasped, stepping back from a gun pointed directly in her eyes. Her gun had run out of ammo already, their idea being to flee as quickly as Petrel's leg would allow him to stumble away. She grabbed her scalpel, throwing the plastic cover into the dirt. The cop only smiled before he pulled his trigger and she felt Petrel's hands shove her as hard as he could.

"Aquila!" It was the only thing she heard before she hit the ground, her vision white with pain. She couldn't scream, locked inside her own mind. The pain that shot through her shoulder and down her arm was all she knew. Then she heard another gunshot and a loud and heavy thud, a shot from far away. Heavy, laborious footsteps ran up and she felt her mouth suddenly move as she screeched in agony.

"Sir..?" The man asked, his voice quivering in fear. Petrel didn't answer the grunt, moving to grab his partner from the ground to hoist her up by her good arm. Aquila felt tears at her eyes, and she grabbed the bleeding hole in her shoulder. Hole..? She looked down at it, her movements slow and painful. The shot had left a clean hole straight into her shoulder and she choked back a longer scream, forming it into a heavy moan. Petrel pulled her forward, leaning on the grunt whose hands shook his gun into a clattering mess of sound. Aquila could hardly see as Petrel pushed her back on her Lairon, who had offered her body for support. She rode the steel Pokemon away from the scene, her fist in her mouth as she screamed into it.

It was a quick ride away to Celadon and Petrel took the turns quickly as panic settled into his chest. He hunched over the steering wheel, holding it with a death grip. The pewter-haired grunt in the front seat looked back at her. "Uh, Sir, she's aslee-"

"Then wake her the fuck up!" The medic shouted, filling the air with cigarette smoke. "Don't let her!" The grunt shook her away, his fear-filled eyes meeting hers.

"Hey, hey Madame, hey, you can't sleep, he said so." His voice was awkward and sheepish. He smiled at her with a crooked grin. She looked at him with anger. All she wanted to do was sleep it off. Why the hell couldn't she just sleep it all away?

"Yo, Aquila," Petrel said, looking back briefly, "if you fall asleep now, you're going to fucking _die_, okay? So snap out of it. Here," he threw his pack of cigarettes on her lap, "smoke one. Occupy yourself." She could see him chew on the end of his cigarette in anxiety and she nodded, unable to think for herself, grabbing a stick and the lighter out of the pack. She lit it up and instantly started coughing, tears coming out of her eyes at the pain that shot through her shoulder. Still, she kept trying and eventually stopped, leaning forward and staring out the windscreen. It wasn't long before Petrel shoved the car into park and got out, his groan of pain loud as he stepped out of the car.

She got out when the grunt opened the door for her and she cried out in pain at her shoulder as she attempted to use the arm as leverage. It was only a moment before she swayed beside the car and the grunt hurried to help her walk through the door to the elevator.

The procedure was long and, due to her concussion, they refused to put her on good anaesthesia. She screamed through the whole procedure, but the surgeon had encouraged her to, if only because it kept her still while he removed the bullet and patched her up. The good news, she wouldn't lose the arm. The bad news is she wouldn't be able to strain it for quite some time. The thought made her nauseous. As far as she cared, they had failed. Petrel came to sit in her room after he was bandaged up.

"Fucking cops," he whined, looking at her shoulder. "You okay?"

"Concussion and this arm is worthless for a while," she complained, looking bitter. He gave her a sympathetic look.

"Bet that was a fun procedure." She snorted, looking out the window to Celadon City. At least they had given her some painkillers, but they were only just helping. It had not been a fun day and she just hoped it meant they got paid more than usual, but she doubted it. She heard a knock on the door and the grunt from earlier walked in, his hand behind his head and his grey eyes full of worry.

"Hey I just wanted to say than-"

"Don't worry about it. Thanks for saving our asses," Aquila cut him off. "What's your name, grunt?"

"...Gargoyle," he said sheepishly, grinning at her. "I normally only work in the hacking department..."

"So you're the one responsible for all this, eh?" Petrel said with a dark grin. The grunt stepped back, his eyes wide in alarm.

"No! I was only there because my Agent wanted me to help Executive Khalij! A lot of us were, I-"

Petrel laughed hard, the painkillers in his system making Aquila envious. "Fuck, I was kidding, kid." The truth was, Gargoyle was in his twenties at least, with a self-conscious and slow gait and an anxious expression permanently fixated to his pale face. He was the epitome of the hacking department.

"If you want to thank me," Aquila said darkly, a smile arising on her face, "you can trade me some of your skills, or let me use them." The grunt nodded quickly.

"I can do that!"

Still, Aquila wondered if she could even learn anything else beyond medical. And currently, her head was in such a fog that she wouldn't be able to tell a kneecap from an elbow on a skeleton even if she tried. She felt like absolute crap, but her doctor had insisted she stay awake a bit longer so they could be sure nothing would happen to her. She couldn't even remember what the repercussions of falling asleep could be. She just knew it was a bad thing. Or maybe it wasn't. She wasn't sure. All she knew was that she just wanted to heal up as quickly as possible and get back to work. And to do that, she would have to have a working arm again.

* * *

**A/N: Maybe one day I'll post a blistering 10000 word chapter. They just keep climbing up and up in numbers.**


	6. Chapter 6

**This disclaimer gon' cut you up, boy.**

* * *

She worked her arm out with her new laptop, typing out her notes for her medical training, her eyebrows furrowed in pain and concentration. The moonlight seeped into her room like shattered diamonds and she clawed with her left arm for a pack of cigarettes at the side of the textbook she was reading through. She had received a notification from the medical wing that Giovanni had cleared time off for her, a week of no work for her to rest her messed up arm. She had decided quickly to test her arm out as much as possible. Petrel stressed she should let it rest for the first half of the week, so she had taken to her room to hide the fact she was using it from him anyway. She couldn't risk being unable to work the next week.

She had sent Gargoyle off with a small mission for her: destroy digital files of her missing person report. She would spend time alone to destroy the physical evidence of the event later. It didn't remove the reports from the internet, she knew, but she could just get the grunt to destroy that evidence too, one by one. It was going to be a long while before her childish face would completely removed from the world. It pained her to see her young face, full of ambition at some point. She had never been a happy child, she decided, too scared of the sounds of the creaking around her in her flat while her mother was away. She blocked out the fact there had been happy moments: all she did was huddle on the couch until whenever her mother would get home and pour over textbooks for entrance exams and keep the television on a loud volume to block out the creepy sounds around her. And more importantly, she blocked out her first experience with Team Rocket, forgetting about the cell as much as possible. Checking to make sure her door was locked to put a barrier between her and her male partner was simply a quirk, of course, not a sign she still had damage.

Aquila sighed, dropping her right arm as she sat back and inhaled the toxic smoke from her cigarette. The drop made her wince but she convinced herself it was necessary. Pain was a sign it was recovering, right? She stood up, gripping the chair with her good arm to prevent the hazy feeling in her head between her lasting concussion and the effects of tobacco on her brain. She unlocked her door and wandered into the kitchen to fish around a first aid kit for a bandage, pulling the old one off her shoulder. Petrel didn't hear her until the metal first aid kit clattered onto the counter, spilling its contents everywhere. She cursed and he jumped with a sharp inhale.

"Goddamn!" He shouted, looking at her, his face pale. "Hey what're you-" he sighed in annoyance as she ignored him and wrapped the bandage around her shoulder. He stood up, pushing his hand through his hair that he hadn't put up on their day off. He limped over and she shuddered when he touched her and grabbed the bandage from her with a small force. She didn't look at him with her surprise. She was always shocked at how gentle his touch was. He was tall and lanky and he threw his body into chairs without a care, but with other people, he had a surprisingly gentle and soft touch. It was otherworldly. She grumbled something when he finished. "So, what, you're not gonna talk to me?" Beat. "You know, I know you're using your fuckin' arm anyway, why don't you come in here with me?" Finally, she looked up at him.

"I... okay."

She had managed to drag her laptop into the kitchen with the textbook on top but it wasn't long before they were both complaining about working. Petrel was worn out, his eyes hosting dark circles from sleepless days due to the past week's stress. Aquila was unable to obtain anymore information, the concussion and information overload working together to fry her mind. Petrel's laptop fans whirled.

"Fuckin'... hell," he completed awkwardly, throwing the screen of his laptop down in annoyance the moment he threw the last file into a shredder and made it into confetti. "I'm done and... and..." there was a long pause and she peered at him over her own screen, "and I don't feel accomplished." She chuckled darkly.

"I still don't understand any of this shit," she waved her hand over her textbook, flicking ashes into an ashtray. He pushed it towards her.

"Well, you have a _concussion_." She could only smirk at this. _Thank you, obvious_.

"I know that, but I wasn't as lucky as you, sir born and raised second generation Rocket," she replied in a snarky tone.

"Trust me," he said patiently, rolling his purple eyes at her, "you'll learn more in the actual medical wing than you will from that shit. We're Team Rocket. You don't have to know what fuckin' metatarsals are to fix someone's fuckin' toes. You just have to know how to set someone's bone and how to cut them up without killin' 'em. Unless you want a medical degree," she snorted at the thought and he continued, "and I don't think you're lookin' to get that."

"Hostage princess of Team Rocket, missing person of seven years ago who didn't graduate from Juniour High applies to Saffron University to become a surgeon, story at ten!" She replied with a chuckle, mimicking a newscaster. Petrel laughed over the glass spoon he was filling up with crushed bud he had taken from the Game Corner.

"So how was Team Rocket like as your kidnapper, were they horrible people who murdered your Meowth and kicked your Growlithe and made your uniform from their skins?" He asked, as if in an interview. A morbid interview, at that. She laughed.

"N-no, sir, they horribly maimed my Meowth and made me wear it as a necklace to remind me that it could happen to me and they sent me out in the streets to tell people to watch out for Team Rocket! It was horrible! I have post-traumatic stress disorder!" She had lifted her voice to sound more feminine. "Th-they sent me out to get their groceries with my Meowth hanging around my neck!"

"...Their groceries?" A purple eyebrow shot up and he looked at her. She shrugged.

"I mean, there's some kind of Executive out there abusing their power, surely?" He would have chuckled, if he hadn't already lifted the bowl to his face to smoke his cannabis. "...I would totally abuse my power and make Gargoyle get me groceries." He sputtered, smoke flying out of his mouth. He exhaled and coughed.

"He'd do it too, he wants your fuckin' _twat_, I can _see it_," he said, laughing. "Guy is as desperate as a Pokemon sleepin' with a ditto."

Aquila grimaced at the thought, "no thanks." Truthfully, she hadn't had interest in _any_ person in the organisation, not beyond platonic anyway. Gargoyle was a bumbling but thin and tall idiot with no common sense. And as she had listened to Sabrina, many a time even, chatter on about a boy here or there that she became infatuated with, she had stayed confused. Maybe it just wasn't for her, she had decided. Either way, she hadn't seen other Rockets get together often.

"Oh come on, he'd beg you," Petrel sang out, lifting the glass back to his lips.

"On his knees, hopefully, so it'd be easier to kick him," she smiled darkly.

"Well," he said somewhat timidly after he blew the smoke out, "I've got this film rented, wanna watch?" She could hear the apprehension in his voice. She had turned him down for a whole week now, when the guy had just wanted to relax here and there and not be alone. She almost felt guilty.

"Yeah," she smiled, "sure. I hope it's a shitty comedy, though." She grabbed the little glass spoon from him just as he lifted it again and he raised his eyebrow.

* * *

"You're takin' him on our mission?" Petrel asked. He was pulling on his boot, a joint hanging from his lip. Normal preparations in the flat for the evening. She pulled on her shoulder-high glove, breathing in fumes as a Koffing rolled through the air, spreading thick pot smoke through the air. Aquila had found that, for her shoulder, sparring with Lance had been the _best idea ever._ The kid was a natural sociopath and he wasn't scared to hurt her and she never informed the kid she had a gaping bullet hole in her shoulder, even when it bled down her arm in a sickly fashion. She was really coming to enjoy his company. She really didn't desire the day Lance was stripped of her care and thrown into the higher ranks. She'd lose him in the masses.

"Yeah, sure, why not," she replied, looking at her partner as she pulled on her other glove with a grunt of pain. The pain was dying, only helped with the fumes that made their flat smoky. Still, using her shoulder and sparring with Lance had made it heal within a week, at least, it was usable. She was still slow. "He's... you don't understand, Petrel," she said as he grit his teeth and stood up. She put a hand on his shoulder as angry purple eyes met rusty eyes. "He's a fucking kid, yeah, but he's _amazing._ He spars with his fucking Zubat and stops just before killing it, he's had a knife on my neck hundreds of times and-"

"He's _what? _Aquila, you realise you're dealin' with what Giovanni said was a twisted, fucked up li'l-"

She recoiled, removing her hand. She could only hope the cannabis did its magic for her. "Yeah, but he wants promotion just like I did years ago, he's too scared of hurting me and ruining his chances, dude, just... relax." Aquila turned her gaze away, grabbing her good shoulder. She felt her teeth gritting unconsciously. "Just let him come with us, he'll prove his worth."

Petrel was pulling his gloves up to his elbows with angry shoves, his back turned to his partner. Aquila grabbed her thigh-high black boots and pulled them on over her stockings. Her 'good idea', she felt, seemed to be crumbling. "Fuck it, whatever. We'll see." Just as soon, she felt her jaw lose its grip on her teeth. Finally, the Koffings in the air were doing their magic. She could feel her own head in a buzz. "If he fucks it up, though..." Petrel grabbed a bag off the floor and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

She laughed softly, biting her thumb to stop it. "He won't, I promise."

Lance was waiting for them on the sidewalk his back towards the base. Aquila watched him for a moment as he threw a rock down the street, hitting a car in the tail light. She grabbed his shoulder the moment it shattered. "Let's go." They ran away from the scene and, after a moment, heard a shrieking woman over her car alarm. Petrel, she could tell, was too loosened up to be irritated. She was glad. The purple-haired man could be extremely laid-back in their free-time, and he spent most of his time watching comedies on the television or playing open-world video games just to do stupid shit in them, but the moment work was added into the equation, it was like a light switch was flicked on in his head. He was almost too serious to put up with. She wondered if she could teach him to relax like he was teaching her medical. Still, Petrel had told her more than once that the reason for it had been due to his father, a man who was deathly loyal to the organisation, and his desire for promotion. It was a noble cause, she felt, but she still felt he took the job far more serious than even Giovanni.

Petrel had a no bullshit standard for work.

They fled through the trees, their mission leading the trio into the heart of Saffron City. It made Aquila's heart pound despite the drugs laced through her lungs. They led Lance through alleyways and he stayed close to their backs, not saying a word. She had already told him that if he fucked up now, his chances of promotion were slim; she had promised him to put in for his promotion with the boss if he did well. She could tell from his hard gaze that he took her offer seriously. "What are we doing?" He asked the moment they were in an alleyway where they lingered. Petrel had his head craned out, looking for signs.

"You came on the wrong mission, kid," Petrel said quietly, his back, hunched as it was, pressed against the brick wall. "We're infiltratin' Silph. They have somethin' Boss wants." Lance gulped. "Somethin' about imported Quick Balls." The "somethin'" was that Giovanni wanted to reverse engineer the Pokeballs and sell them himself, which made Aquila uncomfortable enough. She had complained about it to Petrel already: if Giovanni sold them through Sakaki Corp, it would seem extremely telling that Giovanni had stolen them. Petrel had waved his hand impatiently at her worries, telling her that between political troubles in Kanto and a region to the west and their lack of communication, their boss would move his stock there and there would never be a word of the things landing in Kanto. It helped that that region had a known problem with taking plans for all sorts of things and making their own with slight variation. She had mentally taken a note to never question Giovanni's decisions again.

"Oh," Lance said quietly, touching the knife in his belt protectively.

"Don't worry about it, Lance, Petrel gets a little too serious sometimes," Aquila said, jabbing her partner in the ribs with a smile.

"I'll show you serious," he said with a snarky smirk, his eyes dark. It made her recoil from him, a memory of blood and nails coming back to her swiftly. Her breath hitched and Petrel's eyes turned soft. "Hey, relax... let's go." He shook her good shoulder with a soft squeeze before he motioned for them to move forward. He didn't know what her issue was; she had never told him. He had noticed, however, that her breath would hitch the moment _anything _remotely sexual would crop up in conversation. He would have to ask at some point, he knew, but he kept his distance. She left a peculiarly cold distance between them, something she knew he wasn't used to. She had only vaguely heard in passing, from Khalij, no less, that Petrel's last partner had been a female, a worthless Rocket, but a fairly good pursuer of men. Aquila wondered if her partner expected her to be as touchy.

"Sir, what's your plan?" Lance asked quietly, looking up at him. Petrel looked around a few more moments before sighing and pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

"My plan is to have a break," he offered the open pack and Aquila took a cigarette, lighting it up quickly. Lance, too, fished one out, his eyes lighting up.

"A break?" She breathed out smoke and relaxed against a wall. "You never take breaks on a job," she smiled at him.

"Yeah, well, I need a moment to think," he said, looking out the alleyway. "We're close to Silph and it's 'bout time we stopped walkin on the ground. Kid, you know how to jump 'cross buildings?"

Lance paused. "No," his eyes widened and he continued. "But! I can learn, I'll figure it out fast, 'kay?" Petrel nodded, inhaling his cigarette as he grabbed hold of a fire safety ladder.

"Well, we'll see, won't we?" He climbed up it and Lance followed. Aquila fell in behind them, her short skirt keeping her on the bottom of the two. When they reached the top of the building they grouped up towards the edge, looking over Saffron. She felt a pang of nostalgia. It had been a long time since she overlooked Saffron City like they were currently doing, and just like she was in a different world now, she had been on the other side of the city then. She swallowed and tossed her cigarette down to the street. Petrel pulled his Pokegear out. "We'll follow this route," he said, drawing it out with his finger. "Silph Co," he zoomed in, "has an alarm system and we'll have to find the wire to cut it out. When we do we can go through the top door. There's two options we have."

"Well?" Aquila said during his moment of silence. He grabbed the bag off his shoulder.

"We can all go in and sneak around, or..." he stroked his beard, "or I can go in and dress up as an employee. I thought about it before we left. With Lance here, I guess that means sneakin' through there together is out of the question."

"We all go in," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Petrel, we're partners. If you're ganged up on_, we're goners._ Even if you pull your Pokegear out and let me and Lance know, they'll send people to us to block us from you." The purpled haired High-Rank Officer stroked his beard in thought. "We might as well be caught together, we have a better chance to get out of the situation then. Think about it, if we hadn't been together in Vermillion..."

"I'd be eaten by a Growlithe and you'd be shot in the head, got it," he said, sighing and tugging on his beard in frustration.

"We have Pokemon too," Lance said quietly, looking between them.

"Your Zubat isn't worth shit," Aquila replied. "Petrel, will you be able to jump as far as you need to?" He only nodded in silence, his eyes glossed over in deep thought. She sighed. "Let's go then."

He leapt first and she felt her breath hitch as he did, but with his limp gone, he hadn't lied. She followed him and wished Lance good luck from the other side. The greenette had been a quick learner indeed, however, copying their movements. He bit his glove to hold back a scream of exhilaration.

There was a time for it, however. Aquila wasn't sure how they had gotten in the position - they had torn the alarm system down from the outside but cops swarmed the building despite only being three of them. The situation looked dire and she could feel Petrel behind her in the corner, his eyes narrowed and smoke-scented breathe on her forehead. The cops around them were grinning like Houndoom, teeth bared. They had higher members of Team Rocket and they _knew_ it, and one shit-eating kid who was staring at them with a look that could kill. Still, without violence, they could only point their guns at the trio: shooting them would be illegal (although the general public wouldn't care). Petrel's hands gripped Aquila's shoulders until she screeched in agony, but she could tell her was protective. She had backed up into him and he was hunched over her, more than usual. What was his deal?

"Look, kids, just put your hands up," a cop said waving his gun impatiently, "and we can all finish this night happy, aye?" Aquila felt Lance's body tighten up beside her and she looked at him with wide eyes. "We can all go to a nice bed and three square meals a day and _not_ steal people's hard work, ey?"

She heard a roar rip through the younger boy's throat and, just as quickly, Petrel's cry of, "No!" Lance ran forward, his knife pulled out and she felt Petrel shove her forward to pull his gun out. She joined him, grabbing her pistol as Lance darted and jumped. There was no time to be stunned at Lance's display of speed; he threw his weight into the cop's firing arm, sending a bullet ricocheting off the tile as he slit his throat. Gunfire sounded out around them and Aquila wasn't sure who all was shooting. She grabbed Lance by the collar, throwing him back into the wall as she and Petrel swung each other with free arms out of the way of fire and into walls, trusting the other to manage in such a small space.

She heard the same scream from Lance as before and she saw him grab his pistol, shooting through the pair of them as a bullet slid through Aquila's cheek skin. She screeched in pain, blood pouring down her cheek. It had only just burned and torn through skin. Just as quickly she felt a hand on her arm as Petrel threw her into another wall and she shot, seeing nothing but white and feeling her own angry roar erupt from within. There was something about the pain on her cheek that ripped through her. The bastards had _scarred her face_. She could feel herself pull Petrel away and him pull her away from bullets and she could feel herself run on auto-pilot as she screamed and saw the world in a blur. She saw a haze of green run forward with a shiny knife and she ran forward as well, tearing out of a hard grip on her arm. Roaring, she lunged forward, pulling her scalpel out and thrusting it into a cop's neck. And again. And again. All the while gunfire died around her.

She stood in the end, looking forward down the hall. There was only blurred light, the smell of gunpowder and a long ring in her ears. She saw a blur of black as white hands grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently, making her head bounce up and down without her control. "Aquila... Aquila!" She looked up, staring at the first human face she had seen in what felt like hours as she regained control of her body. She felt her jaw loosen slowly, having not realised it had become bared at any point. His grip softened when he saw her eyes soften, but the fear in his eyes never left. "What the fu-" he paused, "let's go!" He grabbed her arm, pulling her away. Lance followed suit, grabbing a few pistols and wallets along the way. They never saw another worker of Silph Company again and Petrel grabbed his Pokegear. "Boss, we need a helicopter. No, no one's badly hurt... but we..." he paused looking back, "have a situation."

"Petrel, I'm fine, I-"

"It's not that, there will be more," he barked, running faster up the stairs. She took them three at a time behind him, panting. She could feel blood - her own and that of cops - drying and cracking on her face and it disgusted her. Still, she saw the Quick Ball hanging off Petrel's belt. It had been a success. Somewhat. She wasn't honestly sure. When they reached the roof, a black helicopter with a red R was flying overhead already. They boarded it and flew off immediately, watching the cops down below with their tiny blue lights come to investigate an issue that was done and over with. Petrel sighed out heavily when they were dispatched on the roof of the base.

The moment they entered their flat, Petrel whirled around and grabbed Aquila's shoulders in a death grip, making her wince. His eyes were wide, searching hers for answers that didn't come to fruition. "What?" She asked quietly. She watched his eyes trace the blood across her face.

"What the fuck was that?" He asked, shaking her again as if she was still in that trance. She grabbed his wrists, moving his hands off her.

"We should probably go to Giova-"

"_No._" He snapped, his eyes narrowing. "Not until you tell me what the hell just happened."

"I was just mad, calm down," she said, waving her hand impatiently. "I want a cigarette and we need to go to the Boss. Let's g-"

"Fine. Fine, we'll go." He left her in the flat and she had to run to catch up to him. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his back hunched over in frustration. She frowned, unable to tell if he cared or if he was just pissed off that she had been so reckless. She was lucky she hadn't been shot as she ran forward, she realised. Still, she didn't understand what his _problem_ was. He didn't say another word as they bounded across Celadon City to the Game Corner and made their way to Giovanni's office in secrecy.

The man looked incredibly worn, as if simply becoming the leader of Team Rocket had been harder than he had ever imagined. It make Aquila wince when she saw him. She could remember how he looked when she was recruited, and, better yet, when he had been there through her promotions. He had never looked so worn down when his mother was still in charge. "Sir, we have our report," Petrel said, coming to salute. Aquila followed his movements.

"Good," Giovanni said, his voice aged a few years in only a couple weeks. They fell at rest. Petrel grabbed the Quick Ball from his belt, setting it on Giovanni's desk.

"We infiltrated and had a little issue," Petrel said softly.

"So I heard." They cringed. He sounded incredibly irritated with them, as if sending a helicopter had put his work off for hours.

"Yes," Aquila said, holding her belt with one hand. She could feel the gloves tighten around her fingers, her grip harsh to stave off her anxiety. "We ran into a nice little lot of cops."

"We almost got arrested," Petrel continued, stroking his beard, "but we eliminated them." As Giovanni's mouth opened he continued, "there's so much blood at the scene that no one will be able to trace it to anyone in particular." He side glanced at Aquila and she stared forward in confusion. Her only records would be buried in Saffron's hospital, and even if it did exist, she assumed it would be general knowledge.

"I see," Giovanni said, picking up the blue and yellow Pokeball with interest.

"There were no accompanying papers for that," Aquila chimed in. "We'll send a message to the hacking division to swipe digital records. It shouldn't be too hard, they have a very standard security protocol."

"Obviously not," the older man said bitterly, looking at them again. His expression was calm but they both knew under the calm exterior, he was seething. "Not if you two were caught by the cops."

Petrel shuffled his feet in shame, looking at the floor. Aquila grimaced. "Sir, the cops were already there. Evidently, Silph Company has cops rented around the clock. Someone called more cops in while we fled; if they had better security they woul-" Her partner's look of alarm cut her off before Giovanni slammed his fist on the table and stood up. A prototype Pokeball fell off the side of it and clattered to the floor.

"It's not about that, Aquila," he roared and she flinched. His shield was shattered and his face filled with rage. "It's about the cops having a chance to _trace you back_. It's about the fact you didn't work _hard enough_ to get through the building without alerting them in the first place. You failed Team Rocket." His knuckles were white on the Quick Ball he held to the table.

"Sir-"

"Get out." Petrel stepped back and Aquila flinched, her breath hitching. "Next time, _Kobayashi,_ I expect better results from High-Ranked Officers. I will find a way to drive this point into your skull," Petrel took another step back, "if I have to fucking kill you to do it." Aquila took her first step back, her eyes wide as Giovanni leaned over the desk. "Don't talk to me like you just have, again. Get out." The pair darted from the room, slamming themselves into the elevator. They simultaneously exhaled a breath they hadn't been aware they had been holding at all.

"Let me do the talkin' next time," Petrel said quietly to break the soft hum of the elevator. She could only nod, her eyes still wide in alarm.

"So, how about those cigarettes," she whispered, a laugh pushing itself out of her throat in panic. He nodded in return. As they left the Game Corner they quickly fished their packs of cigarettes out, lighting a single stick up with shaking hands. "Thanks," she whispered. Petrel glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

"For what?"

"For not telling him about Lance. Or, you know..." she broke off, looking up at the sky.

"Don't worry 'bout it," he said quietly, flicking his cigarette.

When they got back to their flat they sank onto their solitary couch after she grabbed a wet rag and a tube of antibacterial paste. It was only a moment later that Petrel shoved her hand away after turning the tv on, at a low volume and on a late-night infomercial, and, with a gentle grip, dragged the wet cloth from her hand to clean her up himself. She let him, sighing in defeat. She wasn't sure what possessed her partner to be so caring about her, having only lived with him for such a short time. He cleaned her face and put a bandage on her in silence, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. She didn't realise how cold her body language became when he touched her, how naturally she unconsciously moved her weight away from him despite letting him work on her anyway like a patient child.

"Why did you do it?" He asked as he pressed the bandage to her face.

"Eh?"

"Why did you fly off the fuckin' handle?" She slipped her gloves off and shrugged.

"When?" She was met with an irritated groan. "Oh. I don't know," she could see his expression change when he realised she was answering honestly. "I just... I get pissed off, I lose my grip on reality. It's kinda weird."

"Kinda weird," he deadpanned.

"Yeah, kinda weird. It's happened my whole life." Well, that was a lie, but, as far as she cared, her whole life was Team Rocket now. She slipped her boots off and sank into the couch's warm comfort with a yawn. "I get angry and snap... I guess that's why Giovanni partnered me with cool-headed you."

Petrel laughed, but she could tell it wasn't a very humoured laugh at all. "Your whole life, you've just been this sociopath who was apparently kidnapped by Team Rocket?"

She froze, looking at him with alarm. "...What?"

"You've been this sociopath who was apparen-"

"Yeah, I heard you. How did you-" she broke herself off. Duh, she had told him that much. "I-"

"And that's why you're so fucking cold all the time," he said bitterly.

"What?"

"That's why you sit there and you're so uncomfortable around people - no, men, only guys," she realised he must have seen her with Khalij before, "because you're a socio-"

"I was kidnapped and... raped," she barked suddenly, a shiver finding its way down her spine as she said the word she had never uttered to herself. It was always "assaulted" or simply, "The Event" in her mind. It made Petrel freeze, his expression changing from being irritated with her to a look of pity and she looked away from him to the television, where the screen had some advertisement of a miracle fat-burning diet plan for 30,000 Pokeyen. When she realised he wasn't going to reply she continued. "By a guy here, Dvina. I was kept in the same holding cells as Lance for two months and-"

"Okay!" Petrel snapped, grabbing a bag of cannabis from the table beside him. "Okay." She fell silent, her eyes watching the television but unable to focus. There was a long moment of silence before he whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

He didn't say another word as he rolled his joint and lit it up. She grabbed a cigarette and lit it up at the same time. "You didn't have to tell me-"

"It's fine," she said, swallowing. For some reason, at the age of sixteen, it had become harder to talk about than at the age of ten when she had told Sabrina. Then again, she was shocked that Petrel offered so much empathy towards her. Giovanni, she was sure, had fired Dvina by now, she made a mental note to check, but Giovanni offered no sympathy or pity towards her for it. Sabrina had never said a word about it and, as far as she was aware, had cut it out of her memory altogether after a moment of shock. The group of children she had been a part of and murdered had considered her weak. The seemingly lazy, mohawked nineteen year old in front of her seemed to care - not to pity or condescend her, but in a textbook case of empathy.

It made her break down into tears and a fit of shakes. He looked at her with alarm, moving close then back again, unsure of what he should do. He settled on putting a hand on her shoulder, warm and inviting and yet soft enough to be knocked away if she didn't desire it. He continued to smoke his rolled weed slowly, rubbing her shoulder tenderly. When she made no movement away from him he put the joint into the ash tray and put his arms around her. She didn't fall into the hug or move away, she simply let him hug her as she choked back sobs.

* * *

Petrel was absolutely unsure of his partner. It was as if she had never had a comforting hug in her entire life and he was unsure if she was just unable to push him away. Still, he hugged her and hoped it meant something to her. Sure, she was an off-kilter, insane bitch, but he'd have to put up with her if he wanted to stay alive for the next few years. And it wasn't like he hadn't been raised around pure sociopaths or anything, but he had never had to deal with a partner being quite as messed up as her. He wasn't sure how he would manage. He simply didn't say a word to her. It was like stepping through shards of glass. His previous partner had taken _too well_ to him, to the point he could just manage to brush up against her and she would moan in ecstasy. Her problems would simply blow away the moment Petrel would whisper a few dirty words in her ear.

Aquila was not his previous partner. She was cold, callous and, currently, having a panic attack in his arms. At least he understood, now, why she seemed to get so alarmed when something sexual was brought up. He figured he would too. Still, he looked at her, broken and shattered in his arms and sighed softly. There were people in the medical wing who could _fix_ this kinda shit, and he wasn't exactly the guy to do it. Dealing with broken bones, fine, dealing with broken souls, however, he wasn't able to handle. No, he was the one who played a game of insincerity and broke hearts - well, at least, sexually. He was only a little bit of a whore. A _little_ bit. The past two weeks had just been too busy to catch tail, and Aquila wasn't exactly the warmest person to try and chase, even before she unveiled her secret.

So, it was when she, still in tears with her body shaking, relaxed against him, that he was absolutely shocked, looking at her. It turned out, she had cried herself to sleep and he sighed quietly, letting her lean against his torso. Honestly, his spine was _killing_ him, but the thought of waking her up just to start the waterworks again wasn't something he desired. He leaned forward, grabbing the edge of the ash tray and pulled it forward to grab his forgotten joint. Relighting it, he leaned back slowly, letting her lie on top of him. He looked back at the tv, craning his neck to see the infomercial dance by. His hand remained on her shoulder blade from her shoulder, taking in her even breathing. It was a relief that she fell asleep at all. He expected her to get up and burn something like she had last time.

It dawned on him that the reason she took so much interest in Lance wasn't because the boy was exceptionally bright (although Petrel decided he would sign off for the boy's promotion as well, he was even more morbid than her, but the kid was good at what he did) but because he had been wrong. She wasn't a total sociopath at all, she was secretly empathetic towards Lance's year in the cell. It was far longer than two months and, despite the fact Lance didn't have any of the same signs that something traumatic had happened to him during the year, Aquila was still protective and attached to him due to the similar situation. Petrel inhaled his sweet-smelling smoke in thought. The two were attached in a way and his partner had acted out, in an odd, sister-like manner to teach him what she knew. He chuckled quietly. The two even went into a similar rage mode. In some twisted parallel universe, the two probably were siblings.

He sighed out smoke, maneuvering carefully to unhitch their Pokeballs to let the Pokemon within stretch out on the den floor. Lairon moved close in confusion and he chuckled softly at the metal beast. "She's fine, she just... fell asleep." He pet the Pokemon's head to reassure it before moving his hand to pet one of his Koffing that bumped his head lazily. The television trudged on behind him.

* * *

**A/N: Had to get a little bit o' Petrel POV in there.  
**

**I wrote the last part listening to The Knife's From Off to On. Hnngh. It actually created a scene I... had no plans for. But I _like_ it, so in it stays.  
I swear, I'll write a chapter with humour someday. Solemnly swear. _Swear on my cat's life._**

**Golly gee, Batman, I wrote a chapter that is almost entirely one continuous scene! Holy shit!**

**(One note: someone is GOING to call me out on panic attack then instantly falling sleep. On one hand, I realise a lot of people get put into a state of panicked shock from them to where it keeps them alert for _hours afterwards_. On the other hand, my own panic attacks that I used to have _absolutely_ made me fall asleep afterwards, for twelve hours or more, and it would take me something like two more days of sleep like that before I would recover. Aquila, I've decided, does a mix of both. Hence why in one scene she's awake for hours after one, and in this scene she sleeps instantly. Please note: the former is when the panic attack happened as a result of an event that happened recently - the latter, however, has been building up to be a huge drain.)**


	7. Chapter 7

**It would be awesome... if we could disclaimer!  
**

* * *

Aquila had woken up in his arms that day and had pulled herself off as quietly as possible, embarrassed that she had falling into the position at all. She had watched him roll over for missing warmth with a grunt and a sigh, hugging his thin frame as he did so. The sun had stayed a metre or so away from the couch and she had evaded it to get to her room, still immensely tired. Her Pokemon followed her, knowing if they didn't, they would be locked out with her partner until she finally met life face-first. Lairon sat beside her bed, hunkered down to the carpet. Haunter found himself in the far corner and Golbat hung off a hook in the ceiling.

It had taken a _month_ for Petrel to stop being so concerned about her mental health and she had to take care not to go crazy. Still, on the last day of her work week she had begun to take Lance with her on missions where she had more control, and they would often find themselves knee-deep in corpses stained with the telltale marks of hunting knife and scalpel. Over time she had found her favourite weapon turning from her pistol to the thin blade. They would finish their nights watching the sun rise while trading a joint back and forth. Lance, she had found, was one of those introspective, chatty types (although the first time they had spent a night like that, he had been a laughing heap of flesh, nearly rolling off the edge of the building). The boy was incredibly shallow, however, but she didn't mind. Their favourite hobbies were the same. Although he was an Agent by the end of the month, they still spent their last workdays together.

That night had become the best night for her. Petrel's overprotective nature had grown to wear on her, but she was glad it was beginning to dawn on him that _nothing had changed_, she was the same person before the reveal as after it. She was still his literal partner in crime and coworker in the hospital, a girl with a few loose screws, although more of a cannabis and cigarette smoker. The month had dragged on until he realised that her revelation meant more to him than her and Aquila could only think that it had been the longest month in her life. Tension sparked between her and him like it never had before, only being relieved the few nights that Petrel had caught a grunt here and there and coerced them to join him in his bedroom. It didn't bother Aquila, but after the first time, she had lifted a pair of noise-cancellation headphones from Celadon's massive shopping mall.

There had been a weight that was lifted off her when she finally said the word for what had happened to her so long ago, a weight on her shoulder that she was unaware had even _been_ there. It was as if not calling it 'rape' had had that much of an impact on her.

Still, there was something in the air that her purple haired partner had something up his sleeve to make her feel better 'once and for all', as he had tapered off in contact with her except when necessary. It unnerved her to wonder what it could be.

She found out when he explicitly told her, throwing himself down on the sidewalk while she watched her Lairon tear apart a trash bin. The sound of the steel Pokemon eating metal had long since become normal to her and she watched it with mild interest. "So, what're you doing tonight?"

"Ahh, nothing," she said, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Smoke curled out of his nose.

"Well, how 'bout you come with me, eh?" He smiled, flicking his cigarette and bringing it to his lips.

"...Where are we going?" Apprehension bled through her voice.

"Remember that mansion on Cinnabar Island we went to... like three weeks ago?" He asked. Of course she did; the mission had been a total joke sent down the grapevine so that they could get out of Giovanni's hair for a couple days on the resort island. Giovanni's anger with them had dissolved over time, but for the following week after the Quick Ball incident, he had sent them on countless joke missions made out for teams of beginning grunts. Cinnabar Island's infamous abandoned mansion was an empty lot, half burned down from a meth lab or a Pokemon or the _active volcano_ around it or something, and the whole mission went like a joke. They had picked up some important files on an experiment that had went down there (an experiment that Petrel was quick to inform her had been all over the news for months when he was thirteen) and had gotten out of there with him snagging, or, rather, befriending a Koffing ("for safe keeping!" he had insisted) and a few more moves learned through their Pokemon. They had treated it as a vacation because it practically was.

"Yes..."

"Well, I got some friends to pull some strings," he stroked his beard, as if in thought, but his face was full of anticipation, "and we pulled our Pokeyen together and got a bunch of planes from Boss and..."

"...And?" she asked after a long pause.

"Well, that's the _secret_, so will you come with me or not?"

"Only if you tell me," she pressed, hearing her Lairon swallow the last of the trash bin down her metallic throat.

"But Aquila that spoils the fun, just come with me," he said, nudging his elbow into her ribs. She sighed. There was no way she would convince him to tell her, she knew. She pressed anyway.

"Well, I don't like surprises, why don't you just _tell _me?" She nudged her own elbow into his ribs.

"It's not a surprise," he insisted, looking at her. "C'mon, it'll be fun. Lots of people are comin'. Don't tell me you wanna miss out?"

"Miss out on _what?_"

"Just come with me and you'll _find out_." She sighed again, watching her Lairon move towards a car dangerously.

"Oi! Thermite!" The big beast looked at her, blinking slowly. "Get away from that, you fucking beast, you know what I've said about that shit." She grabbed the Pokeball she contained her in normally and Lairon stepped back, walking away from the car finally. She looked back at her partner who was smoking his cigarette and looking at her with excitement in his face. "How the hell am I supposed to reject your offer with a face like that?" He looked so childishly excited.

"You're not supposed to, idiot," he whined. "The point is, you're supposed to want some fun in your life." She didn't have the heart to tell him she was inducing her life with fun, at least, on the one day they _weren't _partnered. Well, currently. Petrel had become a total drag. "And anyway, this should loosen up..." he looked back at the base, "it'll loosen up everyone." That was true. Life under Giovanni was still hard as he got used to his position as the head of three different places. His time was stretched incredibly thin, but there was a universal weekend off the following weekend. Even the medical wing was going to be cleared out and their Boss had told them that he wouldn't be found in his office at all. It was the perfect weekend to clear out.

"...Sure, I'll go." Petrel flipped backward on the sidewalk after throwing his fist in the air in triumphant success. He jumped to his feet. "Do we need to wear our uniform..?"

"_Hell _no. Why the fuck would we do that?"

* * *

The island was flooded with Rockets, but they weren't there to shoot the place up like they normally would. In fact, the only illegal thing they had done was wire a daisy-chain of generators up to a power line on the edge of the forest, a group of grunts offering up their services as electricians in their time of need.

Well, and plenty of underage drinking. And some drugs. And if they weren't tucked away, definitely noise complaints. But they were far from the tourist parts of Cinnabar and they knew it. Petrel and Aquila stopped when they saw the mansion. Lights were on, the music was loud and Aquila pulled her pack of cigarettes out slowly. She had not signed up for a party. But, she had. Well, time to make the best of it. Her partner's eyes were glowing with excitement as he pulled her forward.

Shockingly enough to her, she had found Petrel, when confronted with exciting things, was quite eccentric in his attire. Clothing she wasn't even aware he owned was worn and he slathered makeup on his face, spending more time in the bathroom than she had. It wasn't until he insisted (and she dubbed it "Petrel's day" when he did) that she let him do her the same. There was no fighting it, he was going to have his way with her that day in the most innocent of ways. She just let him, just as she let him grab her wrist and pull her forward toward the neon lights and music.

It wasn't long before she was loosened up, the effects of cannabis and vodka taking their toll on her mind. Despite a concoction of pure _no shame_ in her mind she couldn't bring herself to go to the dance floor, but Petrel had disappeared into it to find some grunts or something. She wasn't sure. No, she had retreated to a broken mirror, huddled around a group of people who were playing a game of 'what can we do before we howl in pain'. Her comrades had lost their minds, pulling out teeth with a pair of rusty pliers, sending blood all over the floor (had she been in a better mind she would have dreaded the thought of them coming to the medical wing from a nasty case of mouth tetanus). She, however, was perched on a broken ceramic sink, her eyes concentrated on her lips and a thankfully clean needle, her lower lip outstretched. She was just glad she was seeing straight, even if her mind was in a haze of fearlessness and lack of pain. She ignored the crowd of heads peaking over her shoulder.

In one side, in on the other side. She slid offered, sanitised piercings from the people around her, laughing. "It _tickles_," she said, giggling and admiring the new piercings in her face. It was a nice change. "They look like... like _Sharpedo fangs_," she said, grabbing her bottle of vodka and taking a swig. A guy behind her took a piece of ceramic and cut into his wrist, cackling about how he was manlier.

"Bitch I will _show_ you manly," a guy said, grabbing a hammer and smashing it into his kneecap. Aquila winced and cackled at his stupidity as he howled, stumbling back into the bathtub.

"So manly you shriek like a li'l girl!" Someone sang, grabbing the hammer after him and twirling it in their fingers. "Lemme show you manly," they jumped, breaking the wall above him to make tiles fall on his head.

She hopped off the sink, slipping through the crowd of people in the bathroom, their game boring her as people began to copy others, especially as people passed around the pliers, pulling their teeth out. She found Petrel, or, rather, bumped into him sluggishly with a high-pitched giggle. "Look, Petrel," she pointed proudly at her lips. "They're _awesome_ are they?" She couldn't hear the slur in her voice.

"Sexy, _sexy_," he corrected, his eyes drooping more than usual. She smiled wide at him.

"Reaaally?" He nodded, drinking from a bottle of whiskey. "Swee'heart, _stop_," he whined, looking at a grunt who grabbed his arm, her body pressed up tightly to him. "Clingy bitch." She pouted and Aquila's smile slid off her face.

"Bitch, he said shtop," she said, pointing her vodka at the girl. Her back was hunched, unlike her usual posture. The girl stuck her tongue out at her and Aquila growled. "_Cunt_, I will _shlaughter_ you." Petrel didn't have time to react before Aquila swung the bottle, smashing it against her cheek, sending vodka on the three of them. The girl dropped like a rock.

"Holy _shit!_" he shrieked, grabbing Aquila's shoulder to keep her from lunging. "Woah, woah, sweetheart," he purred, "there's no need for dat."

A crowd was surrounding them now, screeching, "fight! Fight! Fight!" Aquila's breathing was heavy, looking at her prey with a livid expression, akin to a starving Pyroar. She ripped herself from Petrel's grip as the girl stood, swaying. Her vision was red as she tackled the girl, pulling a scalpel out. The girl was unable to prevent what happened, her throat sliced as Aquila's vision returned and Petrel was pulling her away, dragging her past the glass on the floor and through the group that moved to give them a gap. Someone whistled from the crowd. "Petrel's go' him a _good one._"

Oops.

When she stood she looked at her partner with a sheepish smile, sheathing her scalpel with shaking hands. She had no words. Petrel was a mix of anger and apathy, unable to shake off the weed and alcohol in his system. "Calm down," he said quietly. The music returned around them, the DJ having missed his duties to watch the one-sided fight as well. "People are gonna get-"

"Dooon't care," Aquila said, crossing her arms and looking at him. "You shaid no, bitch wouldn't shtop." She shrugged. Petrel gaped.

"Bitch, you're crazy," he smiled, though.

"Yeah, well, makes ush great at partners, though, don't it?" She smiled darkly. "Don't be with shtupid girls next time?" It was a timid offer she suggested.

"Not if you're gonna cut 'em up, naw," he said, before taking a swig of whiskey. She frowned, realising her vodka was gone. Ah, well. She was feeling far too lazy to seek out more.

The two parted after a moment, seeking out something new to get themselves into. She saw Petrel disappear into the crowd, watching with blurry vision and droopy eyes. Then she saw him, Gargoyle, leaned against the wall, his anxiety solidified on his face. She approached him, looking at him curiously. "What, not enjoying yourshelf?" She asked, her head tilted.

"Eh? I... you're sloshed," he pointed out and she laughed with a shrug. "I did that hacking shit you asked for." She smiled wide.

"Aweshome. Gotta teach me someday," she said.

"If you'll teach me how to go batshit insane and kill people," he waved his hand at the corpse a couple people dragged away. She giggled.

"No problem." It suddenly dawned on her that she hadn't seen Lance there at all and she wondered if he was there, or if he was having a little murder spree in Cinnabar. It made her laugh. Drunk little Lance, killing tourists for fun. She'd have to tell that one to Petrel.

* * *

The next morning, Aquila found herself lying on the floor and she groaned, moving to sit up. She felt herself hiss in pain at the bright light that assaulted her eyes. Light had never hurt so fucking _badly_ before. She squinted, looking around and spotted Petrel and groaned out a "aw no," turning away just as quickly. He had no shame, his body ensnared around a grunt with pastel pink hair. Neither of them had clothing. She could feel a surge of something deep within, but she ignored it to attempt to remember the night before.

The last she remembered was piercing her lips. She touched them and grimaced at the sensitive skin. They were swollen a bit. Beyond that, however, was a black slate of nothingness. Still, she couldn't help but connect that pang of feeling within her had _something_ to do with the night before. She screwed her eyes shut before getting up and exhaling in agony. Everything ached. She wondered if she had been thrown around the night before.

She stepped over Rockets, ignoring those who, like Petrel, had barely, or not at all, managed to get decent before falling asleep. She grabbed a bottle of vodka from an ice box and, once again, stepped over Rockets to the broken bathroom. It _reeked_, smelling of vomit in the toilet. A person had fallen asleep in the tub. She looked in the mirror, squinting as she applied some of the heavy vodka to the piercings. She took a swig of it as well. If shitty comedy movies and cheesy romantic comedy nights with Sabrina had taught her anything, it was that the answer to _hangover_ was _more alcohol_. She just willed the pain away.

When the alcohol worked its magic she went back in the room with the sleeping groups, kicking Petrel in the side. When he groaned and moved closer to his sex partner she did it again with a frustrated growl. "Hey, Petrel, you're gonna want to get the fuck up and look decent before everyone sees your _hairy ass_."

That grabbed his attention and he looked up, rolling on his back, before growling from the pain of the sunlight. "My ass," he said through bared teeth, "is not fuckin' hairy." She would have laughed, if she didn't feel a beastly roar within the pit of her stomach attempting to erupt.

"Yeah, well, it's out there." She sat the vodka beside him and he took it, chugging some of it down. After a long moment he sat up and clawed at his clothing, pulling the mass of black on. She didn't pay him any attention while he did. She had seen far more than she desired. "So who is this one?"

He shrugged, pushing hair from his face. "You ask too many fuckin' questions in the mornin'," he whined, squinting at the crowd of sleeping Rockets. They appeared to be the only ones awake and she sat beside him, not bothering to help the pink-haired girl get decent before everyone saw her tits. Petrel didn't, either. They shared the bottle between them, stopping before it got out of hand. "Dunno 'er, prolly from human resources," he said finally.

"How..?"

He laughed, "they're better fucks." He nudged her arm with his elbow. "What, not drunk enough to get jealous n kill 'er?"

"...What?" She asked, looking at him. His amusement dropped.

"Oh, you don't remember." It was back, the amused smile fixated to his face like a perfect pair of gloves to hands. "You get jealous when you're sloshed," he chuckled. She felt the feeling in her chest, the feeling of inhumane roaring. She wasn't so amused as she grabbed her pack of cigarettes, slightly crushed from sleeping on the hard floor and lifted one to her mouth. Petrel dropped the subject, but, just as soon, there was an eruption of Pokegear ringtones. He grabbed his before she could hers and listened intently. "Fuck," he whispered when the recording finished.

"What?"

"That was some people over in hacking, they dropped a recording..." he stood up, shaking his head. "Help me wake these fuckers up."

Aquila smiled darkly, jumping over them to get behind a laptop hooked up to a soundboard. It booted to life, playing music as loud as it had been the night before. The group of people around them woke up with a collective mix of screeches and groans. Oops, looks like all of them had hangovers. "Yo," Petrel shouted when she turned it off again, "we gotta bounce. _Now_. Cops saw the suspicious wires off the poles. Let's go. Hop, hop." She looked over the crowd for familiar green hair and a black hat, knowing Lance never took the hat off, before she scrambled out the building with Petrel. She had already seen Gargoyle get up with a start and crawl out of a broken window, his body having no effect of alcohol withdrawal.

"Pool's closed," Petrel said, making her laugh as he fished a cigarette out of his pocket. He frowned, looking at his empty pack before Aquila put one in front of his face. "Thanks." They walked through the woods in silence, not worried about their comrades. By that point they had salvaged all the booze they could and had scattered. Only the most basic of grunts would be caught. Those kids were as worthless as a baby Magikarp. "Well," he said when they hit the beach, "we have two options."

"We can call for a copter or stay?" She asked. He nodded. They took a moment to weigh the options before she pulled her Pokegear out to call for a copter to pick them up. They waited at a diner that was positioned on the dock leading to the ocean, ordering food and drinks to rehydrate themselves. "Well, at least we had fun?"

Petrel laughed softly, "yeah, for a night. Was really hoping for an all weekend thing, though." She shrugged, chewing a piece of watermelon before she replied.

"Well, I'm sure there would be more tension and fights tonight," she said helpfully, smiling timidly.

"Some trashy teen comedies you've been watchin'," he said, drinking his soda.

She smiled more sheepishly, "yeah, you're right."

When the copter arrived on the beach they laughed while they watched people scramble away from its landing point, beach towels being flung into the ocean and across the beach. They could hear people whisper, pointing at the blood-red R on the side of the helicopter as they moved toward it. They flashed toothy smiles at the tourists as they boarded it, proud of their positions in the Rocket Gang. It took off just as quickly, leading them off to their Celadon City home.

Aquila never really caught his odd looks in her direction as they flew through the air; she was too interested in the scenery below them and trainers who made their Pidgeots and Fearows avoid the helicopter in the sky. She wasn't sure why, only figuring that if they were killed by the helicopters and jets around them that it was on them - Kanto likely had no law stating that 'air pedestrians' like them had to lead a vehicle off course and that it was on a trainer to pay attention. She thought about looking it up, but she forgot only moments later. It really didn't matter to her.

When they arrived to their flat, Silencer flew up to her, nuzzling her face lovingly and shrieking into her ear. She pet the large bat, assuring it she wouldn't leave him behind again and that he was better off in the flat than cramped into his tiny Pokeball. The Golbat didn't seem to care about her explanation. Petrel, too, was surrounded by his Pokemon, his head encircled with Koffings who headbutted him into laughter. He didn't have enough hands to pet them at once and she could see the jealousy on their little faces. He shrieked when one bit his ear and he batted it away with his hand. "Oi, not the ear, Cyanogen." She would never be able to keep up with their little nicknames because she couldn't tell a difference between the six gaseous Pokemon: Monoxide (his first Koffing, in fact), Cyanide, Arsine, Chlorine, Phosphine, Bromine and Cyanogen. Petrel definitely seemed to remember all of their names without a struggle.

When the Koffings had their share of attention they slowly floated away, chattering amongst themselves. He went to their refrigerator, fishing out a soda that he opened with a crack. She, however, made her way to the coffee table. "Eh, Petrel, I think we're out of the good shit."

"Aw, shit," he murmured with a grimace after he checked his pockets thoroughly. "Yeah, we are. I... I'll be back." With that, he quickly assured his Pokemon he would only be gone for an hour, tops and left the flat. Aquila took the time to shower and change her clothing, throwing herself on the couch with a grumble. The flat was so boring without her partner. She pawed for the remote, turning the tv on and glanced at Petrel's game controller, cold and abandoned, on the coffee table.

"Shit, why not," she mumbled, pressing a button on it. The console under the television whirled to life and she looked at the game that was displayed, holding the controller in her hand with curiosity, staring at it. It had been _years_ since she had bothered playing a game, since school, in fact. She gripped the controller for a moment, adjusting it in her hands until it felt comfortable and pressed the button that the screen said to press.

She didn't even hear Petrel when he came in until he moved her legs to sit on the other end of the couch. "Enjoyin' yourself?"

"Uh-huh," she replied, sitting up with a concentrated look. "So... I killed this one bitch who kept talking shit to me and now the cops... shit," she leaned closer to the screen, eyebrows furrowed. "Fucking _cops_ everywhere, _look_." He only chuckled, not bothering to look at the screen. "What the fuck they barricaded the _highway?_"

"If you stay hidden for a minute they'll leave you alone," he said helpfully, crumbling his stolen bud up onto the coffee table.

"...Oh. Really? ..._Well._" She dropped the controller in her lap. "Well, I jumped off a bridge and they followed me and we all died." He laughed, piling the weed into the glass spoon beside it. "I wish cops were that stupid in real life."

"They usually are," he said quietly, looking at her and grabbing the controller. "Now, I'm bored," he said, holding the bowl up, "let's get high." He brought the bowl to his lips and lit the end on fire. She watched him in anticipation before he passed it to her, grabbing the controller while he held the smoke in his lungs. She breathed in the smoke herself, holding it down with closed eyes. The feeling was too good to her. Her anxiety disappeared without a trace and while she wasn't as introspective as Lance was on the drug, she realised things about herself on it.

The beast within purred in contentment.

She watched Petrel play when she breathed it out until he paused to take another hit. She packed the second bowl for him, watching him play while she did. Aquila had realised something, having watched her friend play the game before, time and time again. He played the missions in that game how he would do missions in Team Rocket if he wasn't so deathly serious about his job, so afraid of failing Giovanni and the organisation. He would do stupid things just to do stupid things, he would get his character beyond drunk then drive to the spot of the mission in a frenzy, letting cops pile up behind him. He would make his character dance around bullets without a care and she would laugh when he would take a stop and shout, "time for quickie sippy, _go motherfucker go!_" while his character downed a whole beer in front of pissed off cops. It made her realise she actually preferred ultra-serious Petrel when it came to work. Even if it meant he broke his spine to hunch over a laptop for twelve hours after an eight hour set of missions without eating during the entire time period.

"How are you even... how are you not _dead?_" She asked when his character flew from a car that exploded.

"Fuckin' video game physics, sweetheart," he said idly, his eyes not peeling off the screen. She cringed, unsure of why. He had said it so off-hand but so naturally. It made her wonder if he called her that in his head. She shook her head, running fingers through her hair.

After a long stretch of verbal silence between them, broken up with gunfire and cop sirens and radio stations playing shitty music, she looked at Petrel in confusion. "Would you consider us friends?" He paused the game and looked at her with an arched eyebrow.

"What?"

"I mean, are we just..." Aquila looked down from intimidation, "are we _friends_ or are we just dealing with each other because you're stuck with me?"

Petrel opened his mouth and closed it a few times in thought. He lifted her chin up with his index and middle finger, assaulting her nose with cannabis residue. "We're friends, okay? Just 'cause Giovanni threw us together doesn't mean I'm fuckin' dealing with you or whatever." He smiled. "And anyway, Gio likes me so much if I hated you, I could just ask him to get a new flatmate. So relax. Weed's not supposed to make you all sad 'n' shit." She smiled back, leaning back on the couch comfortably. Her eyes felt heavy. She looked at him as he went back to the game. Every time something happened challenging in the game she could see his jaw bare under his skin, a knot of tension lying underneath. He was so fucking thin.

* * *

"In news today, an alleged former Team Rocket member, Hachirou Ishikawa, was murdered on the corner of First and Second Streets in Celadon City's southeast quarter. No news on any suspects, currently, other than current Team Rocket members." It was a short segment, but it showed Petrel a mugshot and that's all he needed to know that his flatmate had disappeared without a trace to hunt the former Rocket member down. The moment she had caught wind that he had been fired, she had disappeared, not to be seen for another fourteen hours by anyone. He narrowed his eyes at the television, a warm bowl of ramen noodles forgotten in his hands. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had murdered Dvina, unless that person's name had been erased from the world.

He used his toes to change the channel. He had been channel surfing anyhow, only pausing when he saw a photo of the man he knew to be Dvina. They had met only a few times, but his father held the deceased man in neutral regards. They had only met when Petrel was still living with his father and Dvina had come over on a business meeting. He had never made so much as a sideways glance at Petrel, but now that he _knew. _He looked at the slightly parted curtains on the other side of the room.

* * *

"You only take on those missions the last day of the week because..?" Giovanni asked her. She was _too high_ for this shit right now. Aquila shifted her weight, struggling to keep her eyes looking how she felt: so far gone that she was struggling to pay attention. Everything sane in her told her it was a trick question and she felt cogs turning in her head. Cogs that were covered in cobwebs as thick as human hair.

"Sir, some missions are simply better without Petrel."

"And _why,_ exactly?"

Another moment of long silence as she best formulated her words. Her tongue felt so thick in her mouth. And _dry_. Of all the times to get the side effect of excessive cotton mouth. She had to consciously keep her eyebrows from knitting. "Well, sir, Petrel has been a little bit... overprotective lately." She shifted her weight again. "To the point where... right now I think it's best we don't go on missions with a high chance of conflict. He might do something dangerous just to protect me."

"And why do you think that?" His eyes narrowed. All of the alarms went off in her head at once to inform her she had said something horribly wrong. Well, thanks, slow brain.

"I told him about my time in the cell an-"

He cut her off with a deathly glare. "So he was the one who murdered Dvina for you?" She felt the colour drain from her face.

"No, sir," she grabbed her collar in her salute, swallowing. "That was me."

Her boss stood up and she flinched. Bad mistake. She could feel her eyes unable to deal with the heavy weight. "What have I told you before?" She felt her anger climb but she choked it down. "Stop drawing fucking attention to yourself, Kobayashi."

"Sir," she said quietly, looking down in submission, "that man tortured me. He _deserves_ it."

"So this is your way of getting revenge?"

"Sir, if he got pissed off enough, he could have spilled _everything._ He could have spilled every damn ship on the ocean that's shipping the human trafficking trade. Every ship and plane in the air that has pounds of illegal drugs and equipment. If not more," she grit her teeth. "I saved Team Rocket _again._"

They stared at one another, sparks between their eyes for a moment before Giovanni regained his cool composure. "Fair enough, Aquila." She relaxed her shoulders. "However," she felt herself go on guard again, "the next time you decide to take a little side mission, ask me first." She nodded. He leaned in closer until she could smell stale cigar smoke on his breath. "And you don't save Team Rocket. _We_ save Team Rocket. _Team Rocket_ saves itself." She nodded.

She was too high for this shit.

"But every week," he pressed, "why do you prefer to take more conflict than with your dedicated partner?" She had to stop herself from sighing. She really just wanted to leave.

"Sir, there's nothing going on. I take Lance on those missions with me, he has the day away from his partner too. We work really well together as _assassins_. Petrel and I..." she paused for a moment to formulate her words, "we work together on a general, all-purpose scale." When Giovanni had nothing to say she swallowed, "I want to test his worth. I know he's been promoted once, but I think we can teach one another quite a bit."

"I see. You can go now." Aquila didn't need telling twice, she turned on her heel and left his office, never making eye contact with his guards. They were faceless entities to her.

* * *

The murder of Dvina had been a solo-mission, but she had let Lance come as a backup, as watch. She had waited for hours for him to show his face and it was late in the night that he did. She sat on top of a building, watching the passing pedestrians with mild interest. She had one target, one prey. She didn't eat anything, chain-smoking a couple packs of cigarettes with the patience of a Mandibuzz waiting for a stray Persian to leave half a carcass. When she saw him, she felt the all-too familiar feeling build up in her chest like fire, her eyes zoomed in on his like an android's vision and she grit her teeth until she felt blood from her gums.

This day had been too long coming.

Aquila gripped the scalpel in her fist hard enough to make her knuckles burn from the fabric pressing against them and her fingernails shattered from the force. She could only see blood. Her cigarette was tossed from her mouth, discarded on the roof so he would have no reason to look up. Seconds trickled by like thick syrup as she watched him cross the street. She could see him as if it was daylight out: same creepy face, a dirty tattoo poking out of his sleeve and slicked back hair as he squinted at a newspaper. How _cute_ he looked, when she realised he was trying to assimilate into normal life. She spat out a dark chuckle as he walked beneath her. Her stomach tightened up with an anticipation she hadn't felt since she was opening Christmas presents as a child when she anticipated getting a new video game console or a new, real-life sized Pokemon doll. It was _that_ good. The moment he walked below her she jumped, holding onto her Golbat who swooped down.

He never saw her coming. Her knee collided between his spine and shoulder blade and the crunch of his nose hitting sidewalk, the loud _click!_ as his jaw dislocated and the blood that rushed down his face was so very satisfying. She roared at him, showing bloody teeth in a snarl reserved for the face of a wild animal. She saw his eyes widen as her vision blurred, as she dragged his body to a corner, smashing her boot into his head. The resulting shattering of his teeth made her roar with laughter.

She lifted his head and looked at him, smiling darkly. Sliding the scalpel against his neck she stared at him in the eyes, her vision blurry. It didn't matter. Closure was going to happen. Right now. She dragged his body by the throat to an alleyway. She threw him down into glass, kneeling in front of him and pulling his face up.

"Remember when I asked you," she said softly, "what being sold was, you motherfucker? Remember what you _did?_" Her hair pooled into fallen blood below their heads as she moved in closer, looking at his crushed face and tears. A feeling of warmth poured over her whole body, hitting her extremities then bouncing back to her face and lower stomach as she stared at his broken face. Flesh was swelling around one of his eyes and his shock locked him in his own body, unable to lift a scream from his throat. "You're getting us money, kiddo," she taunted, smiling wide. "You can't get out, Ishikawa, it's _locked_" she purred, licking the blood off her teeth as she broke the skin on his neck. "Shut the fuck _up_, Dvina, we're _criminals, _we can _lie_, no **_refunds_**." She pressed the scalpel into his neck. His eyes stared at her with fear and more shock. "_Let me show you __what sold is. Let me show you Team Rocket_," she hissed before a roar escaped her. She slit his throat, watching blood gush out of the artery in spurts. She stood up, looking at his corpse and, as a last measure, grabbed his skull, smashing it into the brick wall beside them, again and again until his teeth fell into her hands, in pieces, like little shattered fragments of her innocence.

She pocketed them, searching the pools of blood for orange hairs, which she picked out of it. Within moments, she climbed a fire escape ladder, crawling across rooftops until she was far enough away from the crime as possible. She dropped the hairs into a drain in front of their base, watching the water flow by underneath as Golbat reunited with her, perching on her shoulder. She retreated up the stoop and disappeared beyond the door.

* * *

**A/N: That last scene is something I've wanted to write for _so long _now. Not just because, seriously, fuck Dvina, but because it shows her cracking _because of him, once again_. I've been glossing over her murders because even she doesn't really 'remember' them (either she goes off-kilter and can't see, or she sees white or, you know, she's black-out sloshed, ha). I... I'm in love with the last scene. Hngh. But I promised I would have a lighter-hearted, floofy chapter, and you got that.**

**Mostly. (If you didn't laugh once, maybe you should, like, re-evaluate your life, SON. Or stop taking things so darned serious, you cutie, you.)**

**Fuckin' review, or Petrel gets upset and murders more cops in LOLNOTSAINTSROW/GTA (totally not) while his character is stumbling drunk. Prevent digital cop harm. Review the story.**


	8. Chapter 8

**10/10, would disclaimer again.**

* * *

She was still too high for this shit. She had no time to react when Petrel propelled himself off the couch to crush her against him, her spine arched to meet his hunched chest. Aquila was sure his mission was to crack a rib, and goddammit, he was doing a good job trying. "Petrel... breathing... _I need air,_" she gasped and he let her go but held her at arm's length, looking her over with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth.

"Is that... _blood_ on your teeth?"

"What?" She had no sooner got the single word out of her mouth before her partner dragged her off to the bathroom and flicked the light on. She smiled sheepishly. "Cotton mouth."

"Cotton mouth..?"

"And grinding my teeth," she added helpfully, moving into the kitchen to grab a soda from the refrigerator. She popped it open with a loud snap, chugging it down while her partner chatted her ear off.

"I saw the news story," well, so had Giovanni, who had dragged her off the moment she finished a joint in the main room of the complex, his face livid. Had she not recognised his suit and been just quick enough to realise who had grabbed her wrist in a bruising grasp, she would have murdered him. "No one's called with a tip-off but _on the street?_ Are you a fuckin' idiot, someone could have seen you!"

"I know," she said with a gasp. Her throat was chilled. "Don't worry about it, they found him in an alley, I got him away from vi-"

"Are you a _fuckin' idiot?_" He screeched, eyes wide. She narrowed hers at him.

"Maybe. He deserved it," she walked past him, snatching up a cellophane bag off the coffee table. "I need a moment," she said darkly. And with that, she was gone, latching her door with two clicks, one to close and one to lock, leaving him with his hands in front of his chest and his jaw dropped. She didn't have the time, or patience, to deal with him _flipping the hell out_. She threw herself in her chair, throwing her boots and gloves off and rolling her sleeves up. She used a clean scalpel to empty a cigarette, then began to carefully crumble cannabis down into it, using the scalpel to push the weed down tightly like the tobacco she had extracted. She tapped it to test and, when satisfied, lit it up.

Her toes curled around the seat of her chair as she exhaled, watching the stars disappear one by one out her window as the sun quickly approached west Kanto. Her thoughts turned inward as she stared at the floor. Aquila had an easy way to mentally throw expressions on her previous five important kills. She had remembered her kill, the fear in his eyes, the blood dripping off his chin from his impacted teeth and her curb stomp. The glass that had embedded into his face. The look when she had finally cut his flesh while observing him like a rat in a cage during an experiment. She felt the warmth return to her, spreading to her lower body and face and she exhaled another thick puff of weed smoke with a breathy sigh.

Aquila adjusted her position unconsciously.

She had enjoyed her little show, wishing that she could only show someone else, let someone _else_ watch as she stole his life from him. He had made his killer. It made her smile darkly and she pulled her curtain towards the sun, pushing her into silent darkness. She moved her head as she heard Petrel shuffle to his room, a strange move as the man normally fell asleep on the couch. She could count the number of times he had slept in his own bed, alone, on her hands. She moved her eyes back to her red curtains as she took another drag on her make-shift joint. Her eyes closed from the feeling. When it tapered out she leaned back, looking over herself. Her knees, clad in stockings that were caked with blood. She swallowed nervously.

The feeling was so strong. She had to rid herself of it.

She let her hands explore, hissing from the cold on warm flesh, but when she found a way to relieve herself, she found her body tightening up, teeth clenched and eyes shutting unconsciously. It took very little time for her nervousness to pass and the heat in her face to get hotter. It was over when she gasped out and perched on the end of her chair, her back arched and head thrown back, mouth and eyes open to the ceiling. Her toes curled under the chair until they were white, her hand far underneath her.

She froze and retracted her hand when she realised what mental image she had conjured. Blood, of course. Torture. _Petrel?_ The images hadn't come all together, but had slowly formed from one to the other. She sat back in her chair, looking at the door curiously. She had seen him, on more than one occasion, woe girls but he had never. Not her. She grit her teeth, grabbing a cigarette. Moment ruined, she smoked it and laid her head on her desk, trying to will the image away. It wouldn't though, his breath on her face like it had been on the Quick Ball mission, except heavier, with his teeth scraping against her skin, his hands around her, exploring her body as she had...

She groaned, tapping the cigarette into the ash tray in frustration. She was just glad Petrel had retreated from the living room. _If he had heard_, she thought with a grimace_. Goddammit._ She lifted herself up afterward, going to take a shower to wash the blood off herself.

* * *

They were woken up with a loud, banging knock on their flat door and Petrel had been the first to grab the notice. They read the paper and had a mad scramble into the bathroom, Petrel quickly informing her, "I've got this." They looked in the mirror, slathering makeup over their features and removing any signs of being anything other than perfect human beings with too much money. They had fixed wigs over their head, matching black, and he dyed their eyebrows with temporary dye to the same shade.

It was itchy as hell and Aquila hated it.

Still, she was sitting on the edge of the counter as Petrel leaned over her, his eyebrows knitted in concentration. "Stop blinkin', goddamn," he growled.

"You're _poking my eye,_ motherfucker. It _hurts_," she whined, holding her eye open for him and looking up at the ceiling to avoid watching him put the contact in. It was black in colour, so as to not look horrible with her natural eye colour. She screeched when it finally made contact and blinked, squeezing her eye shut as tears rolled out of it in irritation.

"Get over it," he said, leaning past her to put his own in. He looked at himself for a moment, in a three-piece suit that had been tailored to fit him. He was now a green-eyed, black haired man who looked quite a few years older than his true age. Aquila stood beside him, admiring his makeup work. She, too, looked older than she truly was, matching his deceiving age, in a suit that fit, well, _well enough_.

They scrambled down the stairs to a car that Archer had proactively gotten for them and shoved themselves in. Petrel immediately grumbled something about a morning cigarette and the grunt looked back anxiously. "I'd suggest not," he said kindly, "rich people don't smoke, sir." Her partner's arms crossed over his chest and he slid down the seat, muttering something else along the lines of "rich assholes".

Between them sat two suitcases that were stacked to the brim with Pokeyen. They were dropped off (and let out by the grunt who was dressed as an average butler) in front of a tall skyscraper. Aquila swallowed, peering up at it but Petrel nudged her gently. "I've got this," he whispered. She nodded, following him into the building, her grip around her suitcase's handle tight.

They had both had to prevent themselves from uttering something about "rich assholes" when they saw the interior of the man's office. Aquila wondered if more money had been thrown into that one office instead of on the cubicles they had passed to get there. They stood in front of the desk and bowed deeply at the elderly man who nodded his head in return. He motioned for them to sit. Aquila had to ignore his bodyguards but, unlike Giovanni's, they made her immensely uncomfortable.

"So, Mr. and Mrs. Tanaka," he said with a voice that sounded rather like a rusty chain, "you're interested in my patent." They nodded, putting their best faux smile forward. "Very well."

It wasn't them who gave even one iota of a shit about the patent - that was all Giovanni. The patent was the patent for the Pokeball, which had become their boss's spot of interest after a team of engineers had reverse-engineered one and hadn't been able to come up with much more than basic details about it. Giovanni had, of course, found that the Pokeball's patent was for sale, but, he had said in the notice for their mission, if he obtained it under his name, he would be breaking a monopoly law, as Sakaki Corporation already owned the patent for Potion containers. It tread the fine line of owning too much of the tools a Pokemon Trainer would need. Thus, he needed a cover-up in the form of a young couple, entrepreneurs, who were looking to experiment with the patent. Apparently, they had been the only male-female pairing that didn't have an important mission that day.

At least Petrel knew what he was doing.

"Yes, sir. I would like to make new types of Pokeballs," he put his hands on the suitcase in his lap and leaned forward, smiling wide. "All sorts of types, for different Pokemon and even some for different types of trainers. You have a fine patent. As we all know, it's extremely difficult to reverse-engineer your product. My wife here," Petrel chuckled, "she encouraged me to bite your patent."

The elderly man smiled at him. "Of course! It's built that way to make it hard to reproduce. But, ahh, the youth." He chuckled, "always the idealists." Aquila felt her blood boil.

"Without idealism, my good sir," Petrel said softly, his smile never changing, "how else would mankind invent new things?"

"Sometimes it's good to envy the youth," the old man said, but they both knew he was full of shit, a jaded old man who looked down at the youth of Kanto like all the rest. "But, son, let's talk money."

Without missing a beat Petrel drummed his fingers on the leather suitcase, "Fifteen billion Pokeyen."

The old man, and his bodyguards, laughed and Aquila had to block them out to keep her smile from being wiped away. "Ahh, the youth," he repeated. "Seventy-five billion, son. Take it or leave it." Aquila looked at Petrel with alarm but he looked forward with shining eyes.

"My good sir, I may be young and a lowly inventor," a moment of silence as he tapped his fingers on the suitcase, "but I'm not an idiot when it comes to the cost of patents. I've sold quite a few in my time. Thirty billion."

"Sixty-five billion."

"Forty-five," Petrel said coolly.

"Fifty-seven billion Pokeyen," he said sharply. "I won't go any lower."

Petrel smiled wider, "I think I can do that." The elderly man pushed the contracts that had sat under his arms forward and Petrel signed with his fake name where the man pointed. Aquila could see his eyes barely skim the legal jargon. "Sweetheart, go ahead and count out money for him?" Aquila nodded, not saying a word as she unsnapped her suitcase and began counting bundles of millions. She stacked them up one by one. She had to keep her hands from shaking. She had never held so much money in her _life_. And Giovanni was throwing it all onto a _patent_.

When they were done they bowed, the thick patent file tucked under Petrel's arm, and left. The moment they were back in the car they grabbed for their cigarettes and tore their wigs off. Aquila scratched her head and shook her head out before she lit her cigarette up, breathing in the thick tobacco smoke with a sigh. "Thank fuck," Petrel said quietly.

"How many times have you _done_ that?"

"A few dozen," Petrel said quietly, leaned back in a relaxed pose. He had untied the tie around his neck. She avoided staring at him.

"I would have killed that old man if-"

"Oh, if those bodyguards hadn't been there, he'd have died," Petrel laughed.

"What?"

"What? You think you're the only one who kills people for money?" He cackled, "I killed a man for his Lamborghini, stupid idiot took me to his office without bodyguards. More money than he had fuckin' common sense."

She gaped at him. "What did you do with it?"

"_Sold _it, no shit," he looked at her. "What use do I have with a stolen Lambo?" Another amused laugh. "Someone else got caught with that fuckin' police trap, and-"

"What did you do with the _money?_"

He leaned in close, blowing smoke away from her while she tilted her head down, looking up at him. "If I told you that, it wouldn't be my li'l secret anymore, would it?" She could feel the blood threatening to creep up before he moved away. "And anyway, we gotta li'l baby gruntling in here, can't be tellin' a li'l gruntling about my money."

"Who are you calling a-"

"Salute, bitch," Petrel replied laboriously, making the guy grumble and hunch over the steering wheel. "If it even is money, might be something. Or _things_," he laughed smoothly. Aquila wasn't an idiot, she had noticed how he spent money like it grew like the weed plants around him in the underground plant nursery, but she had never really _thought_ about her partner's money, or potential lack-thereof. What he did with his money, and he insisted on using it often, was none of her business. Still, in retrospect, maybe it was a _tiny_ bit weird that he and a couple other Rockets had assembled jets to get the fleet of Rockets to Cinnabar Island for a _party_.

They were dropped off in front of the base and they dragged the suitcases out of the car and watched the grunt drive off before they scampered up the stoop and went to their flat. She was the first to dart towards her room to change into her uniform, whining about how tired she was of the suit. When she came out, stumbling to put a stocking on, she stopped, leaning against the wall and sighing. She had come out to tell him to get a bowl ready so they could be relaxed, but he was one step ahead of her, still in his suit and hunched over the glass spoon, his eyes not moving from his task. She smiled softly, moving over and taking the plant from his hands with the gentleness he had done with her so many times before. "Go change, I got this."

She waited for him to finish, putting her boots on before they exchanged the glass back and forth in exhausted passes. "Those missions are the worst," he said softly after he breathed his first puff out. "I'm always fuckin' done with the day by the time I'm back home." He looked at her as she breathed in the smoke and coughed a bit on it.

"I fucking want to go to sleep and never wake up," she sighed, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. "Fuck that shit."

He laughed, "at least you weren't the one negotiatin'." Breathe in, pass.

"It's still exhausting to watch it happen."

They sat there for a moment after they finished before they got up. One bowl didn't put either one into a mode of being slammed anymore, but the effects of it with exhaustion made the feeling of being lazy triple. Still, they weren't quite done yet. They left the base again, darting to the Game Corner while holding the suitcases protectively.

This was the part she _really_ dreaded, but she was relieved when Giovanni was seemingly in a good mood. "How did it go?" He asked as they stood at salute. The file could be seen behind Petrel.

"It went perfectly," he said softly, handing the patent over to Giovanni. "We didn't even have to come close to opening the second suitcase," he waved a hand at his own, "I haggled him down."

"How much?"

"Fifty-seven billion, sir, far below the offer he's claiming to the public." They stepped forward and put their suitcases on the desk gently.

"Good work," Giovanni didn't look up from the patent, "you can leave now."

They bowed and left, their feet far more sluggish than when they got scolded. She trailed behind Petrel like a lost puppy in the street, his longer gait making her feel left behind over time, but he never let himself get too far away from her. They fell on the couch the moment they walked into the flat, their eyes dull. "I'm fuckin' sleepy," he whined.

"So am I," she whispered, looking at the bowl on the table. "Bed is so far away." Her eyes moved up toward her closed door. "And yet, so close."

He chuckled. "There's always the couch."

"You sleep here though," she whined.

"It's big enough for two," he argued. She looked at him with falling eyelids. Did he seriously just say that? "Shit, it's not like we haven't before." She looked at him for another moment and shrugged.

"Fair enough."

They leaned against one another, his head on hers before he used his arm to drag her down with him. Aquila could feel the fear radiate from her core, her body still tensed against his relaxed body as he kept his arm thrown over her side. It was only when he pressed his head against the back of her neck and she felt his breath spread over it and he never moved his hand from the couch that she relaxed, her body unable to continue to be tense.

* * *

"Fuck," he whispered, stepping back into glass, his eyes wide. He heard the familiar metallic scream and turned his head, swallowing down ashes. The Pokemon could only vaguely be seen throw a narrow alleyway and he froze, watching it tear up the cobblestone before it charged forward with a glowing tail. "_Fuck_," he jumped over a car, running down the alleyway, his eyes wide and frantic as he looked for her.

_She's not here either_. He could see all her _Pokemon_, their enemies being the Pokemon of cops - Arcanines swarmed the road, their fires not helping the current situation. He gritted his teeth. _Stupid fuckin' cops._ He hunched over, looking for his target. It was no use - it was so hot from the spreading fires that anything beyond a few metres was a hazy mess. He jumped at a ladder, climbing it quickly to get an upper hand. Purple eyes scanned the fire radius and he swallowed, running a clawed hand through his beard in anxiety. He wasn't sure he could even adapt to another partner so damn quickly, having been partnered with her for 10 months straight now. She had become his best partner yet, if a bit fucking crazy to be around.

He grit his teeth harder, scanning the areas below him. There was no sign of her. He felt his heartbeat get frantic. He needed to get out of this _heat_, but he needed to get _her_ away from it. The fact she wasn't killing people in the chaos told him she was either arrested or she was unconscious, and Petrel would bet his entire nutsack that she wouldn't be arrested without putting up a fight to kill herself first. He slid down the ladder again, watching her Lairon once more as it tanked its way through the Arcanines with its metallic roars. Her Haunter was throwing Shadow Balls left and right, cackling in a maddening way that made his heart rush faster. He ran out, darting into another alleyway before, he hoped, the police saw him.

It took another five tries before he found her and his eyes widened in fear. She was bloody, but he couldn't tell if it was her or from someone else. He crouched beside her, taking her pulse quickly. His eyes widened as he saw an ember fall on his glove and he looked up, grabbing Aquila from her fetal position in the glass-covered alleyway as the fire descended down the side of the building.

"Come on, sweetheart," he whispered desperately, looking at her. Her head rolled on her neck and he grit his teeth. "Come the fuck _on_, your Pokemon areeee what the _fuck?_" He stopped short, looking at the Lairon as it gnashed its teeth at an Arcanine. The shining silver ran up her tail to her body. "Aquila, you're going to miss your fucking Pokemon evolvin' all 'cause you're fuckin' _unconscious_." He was only angry because he was scared, he knew, but he slid into an alleyway, watching the scene. The Aggron roared louder, smashing her tail into the ground as an intimidation tactic. Cobblestones flew through the air. "**_Thermite! Silencer! Stalker! Let's go!_**" He roared, holding their trainer close to his chest. The Pokemon quickly turned to retreat and Petrel was relieved to see some grunts sacrifice themselves to let them go. High-Ranked Officers first. He took note of their appearances to tell Giovanni.

"Stalker, grab my Pokegear, yeah, like that." He grabbed the device and set Aquila down in an alleyway on a patch of ground he cleared out. "This is Petrel. Aquila is down. _I need a helicopter_," he barked, hearing someone scream down the road. The entire situation was nothing but screaming and sirens and a roaring inferno that assaulted his ears. How had this _happened?_ He picked Aquila up again and ran down the street, jumping over corpses as he ran. He held his partner close, gritting his teeth.

He boarded the first helicopter he saw, laying her over his lap and the chair, petting her hair gently as he removed Pokeballs from her belt and returned the Pokemon that were contained in them. He removed her gloves and rolled her sleeves up before removing her boots and stockings in the cool helicopter. He couldn't think of his dread with Giovanni, not that it had been their fault, but - suddenly he realised his breathing was ragged and he swallowed like sandpaper. "What's going on out there?"

"I have..." his head swam, "I have no idea," he whispered, his fingers curling on her cheek. "Goddammit," he forced his fingers to uncurl and he slipped a glove off, feeling her pulse again and tilting her head back to check for ashes in her nose and mouth. "Fuck," he murmured. Her mouth had a thick coating of soot and he could see her ground teeth and inflamed gums.

"What happened to her?"

"No idea," Petrel whispered. "One moment she was there, then she was gone."

"She gonna be okay?"

He swallowed, looking at her. "I don't know. She's suffering from heat stroke, at least." He checked her head for obvious gashed but couldn't find any. The blood seemed to come from nowhere. He inaudibly sighed in relief.

"How the fuck don't you know if you're medical?"

Petrel looked up, his expression dark, "I know you're about to be murdered if you don't fuckin' hurry up to Celadon." The pilot only nodded in response.

The moment they landed on the base he jumped out of the copter, picking his partner up and ran through the door to the medical wing, running past the nurses who looked at his ash-covered face in shock. "Assistance," he choked out, running into the first empty room.

"Petrel, sir, are you sure," a Spy said, peering in. "I can take over if-"

"_No_," he barked, looking up with anger blazing in his purple eyes. "This is my patient." He washed his hands quickly as a nurse took over to prepare an ice bath for her. He lifted her up, letting the nurse remove her uniform. Petrel sat her in the ice, watching her face for any sign of movement. He checked her pulse and temperature every few seconds.

"You love her, don't you?" The nurse said quietly. Petrel gritted his teeth, lifting a cool towel to her face to get rid of the ashes.

"She's my fucking partner," he growled out. "And-"

"And after Gauntlet died, you don't want to lose another." She finished for him, but he could hear something in her tone that told him she didn't believe that was the full extent of it. He nodded, leaning in when he saw Aquila's eyelashes flutter. Suddenly, she jerked and he grabbed her arms.

"Woah, now, Aquila," he whispered, looking at her with alarm. "You're gonna have to relax." He rubbed circles into her bicep gently. The nurse stood up and left. Aquila looked at him and he smiled a sideways, sad little smile.

"What..?"

"You must have exerted yourself too much," he watched her notice her lack of clothing and he saw colour rise to her face, from embarrassment, he assumed. He had a million questions, but it was far too soon. He let her arm go and she covered herself up.

"I..." She looked down and away from him. It broke his heart. "My Pokemon?"

"They're all fine," he promised. "Are you feeling okay?" He reached for her neck, feeling her pulse again. It seemed to be edging toward normal and he felt a sigh escape him. Relief flooded over him.

"I think so." He stood up, putting his hands out. She grabbed them, allowing him to lift her slowly. Her knees shook and he let her grip him as she walked out. He grabbed her uniform, handing it to her before grabbing a glass of cool water for her.

"Drink this," she took it, sitting on the bed and chugged it down. Then another. And a few more. He watched her carefully. "What happened?"

"I..." she furrowed her brow and he took the moment to clean his own face off. "I think I was grabbed by a cop... and I killed him... and a few more... then... I can't remember." He could fill in the details himself. He grabbed her, holding her tightly against his chest with shaking hands.

"You scared the shit out of me." He could feel her shudders still and he let go, filling the glass again for her. "Don't... ever... _scream for me_, okay?" She nodded and he saw tears prick at her eyes. It was so uncharacteristic of her.

"Thank you, Petrel," she whispered, which only elicited more tears. He wiped them away with a small laugh.

"You'd do it for me, wouldn't you? So don't worry about it." He hugged her again, letting her fall apart in his arms. He pressed his face in her hair. It had been like this for ten months. They progressively got closer, touching one another more and, much to his delight, she slowly stopped recoiling from him. Still, it shocked him when she wrapped her thin arms around his torso - things hadn't changed too dramatically, except that his head had been filled with her.

Everyone in the medical wing knew he was absolutely infatuated - he never shut up about her to his coworkers there and, especially, in the drug production hall of Game Corner. People there, he knew, were getting absolutely annoyed with him. He just couldn't stop chattering about her. She killed cops like they were disposable, she protected him like his previous partner couldn't have, she had only a thin string of humanity, and that humanity extended only to herself, Lance and Petrel. It made the purple-haired twenty-year old more than delighted that he was part of her list of people she obviously cared for. Of course, a part of that extended to Giovanni, and he wondered if that was due to Giovanni being their boss or if there was something else. He never asked, because she never talked about people she cared about explicitly. He just knew she had some portion of caring for him.

And although she was a murder machine, with more scars than the average female Rocket, he couldn't help but silently admire her and dump the feelings on someone who would listen. He just would never admit to being more than a bit infatuated with her power. He sighed into her hair, feeling tears bleed through his uniform.

"Aquila," he pulled away and wiped her tears away again. She was a sniffling wreck. "Stop crying, it's okay." She laughed softly, using her wrist to clear her face of wetness. "I _swear_, you're okay. Petrel's got ya all fixed up." He smiled at her and she smiled back, a soft smile with quivering lips. It was in that moment that he realised she had a vulnerable, fragile side, although she never showed it with whomever she deemed an enemy.

He grabbed his Pokegear and checked it before sighing. "Hold on," he said softly, pressing a button on it and lifting it to his ear. After a moment he pulled it away again.

"_Am I on speaker now?_" Archer's voice rang out through the room.

"Yes, sir," Petrel responded. Aquila repeated it, her voice breaking.

"_Good. I wanted to tell you both at the same time, I'm cutting this short. More calls to make. You've been promoted because of... unwanted circumstances. Welcome to being an Elite Officer. I'll send a notification out later. Right now, I'm making calls for Boss. I hope you understand. Have a good day._" Click. Dial tone.

Petrel and Aquila stared at the phone, their eyes wide. "...What?" She whispered.

"Elite Officers died. We're in their place," he assumed. It was the only logical answer. They hadn't done anything else to warrant the sudden promotion. He sat beside Aquila, a feeling of confusion running through his blood. If _they_ had been promoted, after all of Giovanni's anger, exactly how many people had died today on the flourishing Sevii Islands? He gripped the phone tightly. Aquila leaned against him and he felt warmth spread from the place she touched. He grabbed her, pulling her close. He could tell she felt like he did. The promotion wasn't the most rewarding promotion either of them had gotten, it was bittersweet, at best. She buried her face into his chest, her eyes closed. He pet her hair, feeling her tense up, if only a little. That kind of touch was something she still wasn't used to. She still had tons of shields and...

Well, he knew he was the only one who had even broken a good couple dozen of them. It was a small moment of happiness for him. He, master of breaking girls' hearts on a regular basis, had helped fix some of her pains. Pains that he could feel in his own heart. Pains that caused him to be overprotective of her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Let's go," he whispered. She reached down to pull her stockings and boots on but she didn't retrieve her gloves. The shoulder-high gloves were far too much effort and, even if she had, he would have stopped her. He stood, holding a hand out to her to help her stand. It took a moment to get her bearings, but it wasn't long before she slowly removed her hand and walked beside him, her eyes glazed over in thought. Petrel looked at her before murmuring, "please, Aq," she looked at him, "don't think right now, just move. If you get all glassy-eyed on me now, I'm gonna think you'll faint on me." She smiled softly at him and he grinned back.

"I was just thinking about that promotion, it just... worst promotion ever." He laughed.

"Well... Thermite's now an Aggron, she evolved trying to protect you," he said, walking into the elevator.

"Wait, really..?"

"Yeah, really," he said, holding her shoulder with a gentle touch.

* * *

**A/N: God, this could easily become a Petrel PoV fanfiction if I don't watch da fuq awt. But that last scene is better off in his point of view, and who said I had to stick with one? The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo didn't stop at one so _neither do I!_ That's how that works, right?**

So, funny story, my Firefox totally crashed while writing this. But when I rewrote it, it was better than the original. Winner?  
Review and tell me what you think, if you like~


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer is one of the chosen ones. Disclaimer is one of the beautiful ones.**

* * *

"Goddamn," Petrel whispered, looking at her as she threw herself on the couch beside him. His eyes searched her exposed skin for every sign of previous struggle, trying to peer through the damp curtain of dark orange hair that she hid her wounds behind. Her eyes were puffy and red and she looked at the coffee table in front of them to ignore his searching gaze. Her teeth clenched after a moment and she noticed as he averted his sight to the glass bowl on the coffee table.

Aquila slid down the back of the couch further, picking at a scar on her cheek as she used her toes to open her laptop and boot it up. She couldn't stand his obvious concern, his unhidden desire to touch the scars that ran across her skin from her struggle in the midst of the fire fights and destruction of many of their peers. The base was silent, unnerving compared to the usual noise that happened around them before midnight struck. Team Rocket was in mourning despite mass promotions. When she saw her operating system finish loading, she breathed in sharply.

"_Hey, Aquila, Mauler is gone. I'll have a funeral for him, tell me if you're coming._" She ground her teeth, grabbing her cigarettes and lit one up as she took a discarded black hoodie and put it on, pulling the hood up. Petrel said nothing beside her, silently breaking up weed into the spoon in his lap. She hunched over, drawing her shoulders up as she reread the message over and over before replying with a single '_yes_' and discarding the screen. She knew Tomahawk was offline, mourning his friend's death, likely off at the shady bar beside Game Corner. The two had been attached at the hip since she had known them, happy as can be as eternal Agents. Shit, Mauler was the one who pushed for her promotion. She glanced at Petrel when she heard his lighter click.

"That sucks," he choked out suddenly.

Aquila didn't reply, taking the glass pipe out of his hands and smoking after him. His large hoodie sleeves slid down her arms as she did and she looked at the scars on it. "I need to cover those up," she breathed out, returning to a slump. Petrel leaned forward, looking at her as he took the bowl.

"What d'ya mean?"

"Well, all the executives have more tattoos than skin left," she said with a shrug. "We're only a rank lower than them."

"You shouldn't get tattoos just 'cause they have 'em."

"No, I've been thinking about it for a while."

"So have I. It's cashed," he added when she grabbed to take the bowl back. He worked on packing it full of cannabis once more.

"What are you going to get?"

"A Gyarados down my back, like my old man."

She smiled darkly, "I'm getting a Steelix. Down my left arm and over the shoulder."

"Why a Steelix?"

"As much as I like Aggron," she peered at the sleeping beast in the corner, "she's not good tattoo material. The tail will end on my middle finger."

Petrel laughed, "you're gonna flick people off with a fuckin' Steelix. Awesome." She smiled back.

"That's the plan." After they finished smoking, Petrel turned to his games and she hunched over her laptop, fingers flying over the keys she had learned to get used to as Gargoyle had taught her how to hack. The slower man wasn't sure why she would want to learn (because, as he claimed, "you have a cooler job and you're good at it") but she had insisted, only to take his money and buy pizza with it. It had become her time when her partner knew not to even bother talking to her, she wouldn't listen or notice him. It was her time to be alone, in her own world with a black box and white text. Aquila had found quickly that it was something her mind could completely get enveloped into, without distraction, without idle thoughts and nightmares.

She enjoyed compromising data.

Most nights she would simply throw out whatever she took from companies. It was a lonely job - one without rewards, because even hundreds of thousands of Pokeyen to a large company wasn't worthy of local news coverage, even the most dreary, news-less studios wouldn't bother. She would just delete hundreds of documents without a trace, behind so many virtual private network and proxy shields that she would be untraceable. The blame would find its way off in a northwestern country, in snowy, remote sections of land, to lead to a building of towers of servers that dumped records faster than they could be infiltrated. She threw their hundreds of thousands of Pokeyen into the abyss like a depressed, guilt-racked man who threw falsified drug money into the streets when he found out that his plans of illicit riches wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Some nights she would venture into the deep internet and throw documents awry on an anonymous platform, watching other human beings clamour over one another like hungry Mightyenas to decide the legitimacy of the documents that shined in front of them. Gigabytes of documents that she never spoke of to her anonymous peers about again, knowing full-well that if she so much as defended as legitimate, it would make their suspicion of the opposite grow stronger. These greedy men who fought tooth and nail to prove their worth of knowledge, before they ate it up like Sharpedos as it disappeared with a single refresh.

And sometimes, she would venture out, early in the morning, into the thick crowds of Saffron City to watch the chaos ensue. Piles of hard drives confiscated for evidence by the police, who insisted they would do everything to stop the person who caused the company money. Some employees would come in, only to leave again in ten minutes, their suitcases in hand. They wouldn't return. It was the only evidence she had that she caused some sort of panic rift between the company and their network administration. She would smoke her cigarette and watch. It wasn't something she truly enjoyed, but something she could wrap herself into, like a thick, comforting blanket to a child. Some days, she just wanted to watch a company burn.

* * *

They crammed themselves in the narrow space, their eyes shining with their new promotion as they stared down their prey. She licked her lips and felt silent tremors underneath his flesh. Kadabra were stationed in dark corners, spreading around thoughts as if they were radio signals. Communication happened, although no one in the building except them knew. Aquila could only vaguely hear the conversation happening behind the closed door a few meters away, and it often came in indistinguishable murmurs.

Their tall boss walked out first, stoic and without a single motion to set himself off as an imposter. However, a Kadabra was quick to siphon his thoughts down the line. "Business trade fell through." Petrel breathed in sharply beside her, electricity ran through her brain.

The moment she saw her target, a man half Giovanni's age and a fool who had sent his bodyguards off when Sakaki worked his magic over him to be considered so trustworthy to do so, she felt her breathing grow heavy. Petrel pressed himself to her gently in warning. "Well, it was fun, Mr. Sakaki," the younger man said, running a hand through light blue hair. His voice indicated he thought it was anything but fun. Giovanni led him out of his office a bit more before turning and resting his hands behind him. Aquila stirred. "I'm honoured and I'll keep your offer in consideration."

Giovanni's fingers moved. "Of course, Mr. Sato. I do still implore you to think longer on the offer. It's once in a lifetime." There was a pause as they shared a soft chuckle. She could feel herself fill with rage. This fake laughter was so strange to her, but it came so naturally to her boss. A true businessman. "Ah, Mr. Sato, could you see me out with your bodyguards, perhaps?" Another chuckle from him as he waved his hand to motion around him, "I'm high-profile. It would be unsafe, of course."

"Oh, yes, sure," the man called his guards in on his Pokegear and Giovanni made another motion with his fingers, but his words rang out in their heads: _Two shots of gunfire_. The concealed Rockets watched the men escort Giovanni, who thanked them with a nice amount of cash that he assured them would be tax-free on Sakaki Corporation. It made Aquila want to chuckle. Still, she kept her ears open for the signs as Sato returned to his office without another word.

The man did just as they had expected; the moment gunfire rang through the building, one, two, he ran out quickly and Aquila ran forward with Petrel. She jumped and grabbed him around the neck with her arm and lifted her scalpel to it, her chest heaving into his back. Petrel held his gun forward, looking at the man with a lopsided smile. Grunts poured out of the corners, from the ceiling and from other rooms where Sato's workers sat, gagged and bound. Aquila could only wonder how many sick fucks in the group had done a bit more to some of the workers. Still, she leaned her head into Sato's ear and lifted a breathy sigh into it.

"Okay, sweetie," she purred, "you can be nice, or my knife will be nice to you." Sweat rolled down his face.

"You're going to get Sakaki into a hell of a legal stor-"

Petrel cackled darkly, pulling the hammer back on his pistol, "sorry to break it to you, but no one is going to believe your li'l workin' bitches," he pointed a thumb to a secretary who stared with wide brown eyes, "over Sakaki. And don't worry, we offloaded your cameras a while back."

"Sir, we have a vehicle," a grunt said softly, at salute. Aquila watched Sato's eyes turn to the grunt to drink in the man's stance. She pressed the scalpel harder to his neck and he looked at Petrel again. She licked her teeth, staring at her partner. It was maddening to her that he had to cover his appearance up behind wigs and makeup on this particular mission. He certainly wasn't as attractive with his appearance blurred. All the tiny little scars he normally had were gone. How disappointing.

"So," she purred, adjusting herself on his back. Sato was a bit taller than her, although not quite as tall as Petrel. Best leverage was with her knees shoved into his waist, balanced on his hipbones. Still, she had him arched painfully, his chest shoved toward the ceiling, she knew. "Will you be a good little boy," the scalpel nicked his skin and she watched the blood fall over her arm with interest, "or will I get to have fun with you first?"

"You're fucked up," Sato choked out, but his eyes were full of fear. She dropped to her feet and made him arch his back more to adjust to the height difference. She could feel his breath, ragged and thin, against the arm shoved against his jugular.

"You can be fucked up, too, sweetie," she purred and she saw something snap in his eyes. Aquila relished in that satisfaction. It was the look of pure consent, if only because not doing so would lead to a worse position. Even a grown man would crumble to a girl thirty centimetres shorter than him when given the option of a bad position or a worse position. "So let's go." She kicked at his ankle, shoving him forward to make him stumble forward. Petrel held his grip on his gun.

"You're such a fuckin' creep," he said with a laugh. Aquila smiled at him, walking the young CEO forward and down a flight of stairs. She wasn't slow or careful with him and he yelped a few times as the scalpel nicked his tender skin. Every time, she sarcastically apologised, all the way down until they grabbed a black bag from a grunt and shoved it over his head before shoving him into a black, unmarked car. They watched it drive off and pulled out their packs of cigarettes to smoke one before they walked down the street. The grunts poured out of the building, spreading out to finish their shift for the day.

They weren't sure what was going to happen to Sato, although Aquila had her ideas that he would be in the prisons for some time. Giovanni didn't divulge in any details and neither of them had asked. "Lance-"

"Proton," Petrel corrected.

"_Proton_ is going to have a field day with him in the prisons," she said. She kept forgetting his codename he had adopted over the past month. To her, he was just Lance, although he would constantly complain about the name whenever it was mentioned. The kid had discarded it when the "goody Elite Four Champion title" was rotated out to an older man with the same name. It was an absolutely silly reason, she thought, but it made sense to Proton, who was quick to ditch it for a codename. Still, as he had upgraded through the ranks again, he had taken Dvina's empty place as prison guard. She could only imagine how much torture he put his prisoners through. "The kid knows how to keep a man alive within an inch of his death."

She saw Petrel shudder visibly. "I can see why Boss keeps him around."

They made their way into a tattoo parlour, owned by a Team Rocket member who gave them a high-five when they entered. "So!" He rubbed his hands together. "You're finally here!"

"Of course, just on time," Petrel said with a wide grin. The member went around his counter to grab a couple pieces of paper and offered them up. They looked at the drawings and Aquila's eyes lit up.

"Perfect," she breathed, looking at the angry Steelix. He walked back around the counter, grabbing her arm and wrapping the paper around it to show her how it would look officially. The Steelix coiled around her arm, spikes digging in through the other side, the skin around the spikes growing up into the steel, infused with the Pokemon. Its head dipped over her shoulder, baring his teeth at whoever stood behind her in a malicious grin. "Absolutely perfect."

The member, a Spy, moved to Petrel and pushed the paper into his back, leading Petrel to a double mirror to let him look at how the Gyarados would appear to crawl up his back, its angry red eyes glowing. Petrel smiled. "Awesome."

They were lead to a chair for her and a table for him, before the Spy got to work. Aquila felt her discomfort as she had to push her arm and shoulder out of her uniform to let him work, but Petrel only whispered, to the point she swore he was speaking to her telepathically, that he was there, it was okay. She wasn't alone. She let out a breathy sigh, only wincing when she felt the initial jab from the traditional Irezumi method the man used. It took hours with no breaks and they watched each other get the tattoos, only to shove themselves against the double mirrors and stare at the work he did.

Aquila peered at her tattoo, her mouth slightly open. It was just as beautiful - perhaps more - on her own skin, as if the fact it was now permanent made it even more breath-taking. Then again, it almost felt as if a Steelix actually had punctured her flesh. The pain was absolutely real, still searing. "Here," he said, breaking their silence to hand them a cream. "Put this on it. Keep it on there, or it won't heal properly. Come back in a few weeks." Petrel didn't glance at the Spy, only looking in the mirror at the reflection of his tattoo. She swore she saw tears prick at her partner's eyes, if only for a moment. She smiled at her own reflection, at the angry, leering Steelix, embedded in her skin forever, before spreading the cream over it gently, hissing at her own puffed up skin. They had only got the line work done, but it didn't matter.

It was only when they left that they realised they had been in there almost twenty-four hours, the sun was coming up. She looked at Petrel who shifted uncomfortably in his uniform silently. She could still see the awe in his eyes and she grabbed his arm with her hand, smiling up at him, only to be met with a quivering smile of his own.

* * *

Agreeing to go to Mauler's funeral was quite possibly the worst thing she'd ever agreed to in her life. What she had expected was a Team Rocket gathering, and she got that, but she also got his full name and his mourning parents and a general air of depression, as if the base's bubble of depressed silence had exploded in the room where Mauler's shrine had been set up and left a sticky residue of filth behind. Aquila could pinpoint the moment it happened, too: when Mauler's mother, an elderly woman wearing an elaborate black kimono, threw herself onto his shrine, sending incense and flowers sprawling across the floor.

The woman had just _cracked__. _Her howls of sobbing rang through the building as her husband pulled her away to let the workers reassemble it all. Tomahawk had stayed behind the scenes, in a corner, his eyes dark with stress. Aquila had only just so much as said "hello" to him before leaving him alone again. He had arranged the funeral for Mauler's parents, as Mauler was an only child, but, she had found out, Tomahawk was as integrated into that family as if he was his older brother. Still, he had gotten up at one point to console his 'second mother', hugging her as she broke down for the dozenth time.

It was all very strange for Aquila, who realised she had never been to a funeral and was just glad Petrel was there to tell her what was appropriate to wear and how to conduct herself. Still, she didn't find it hard: just stay silent and watch. It was all extremely painful to sit through, she felt. Unnecessary. She wondered how this helped people mourn. Wouldn't it just extend their mourning?

She was glad when it was over with. She wasn't glad to notice that the bubble of depression still lingered over the base, leaving it in silence even on days off for the people on her floor.

* * *

When people sign up to Team Rocket, they often imagine all the missions are going to be stealing Pokemon from strangers, from Pokemon Centers, wherever Pokemon can be stolen from. In reality, it consistently shocked Aquila whenever they had such a simple task involving stealing Pokemon, even if it was her Pokemon's favourite task of all. Stalker corralled Pokemon like an Arcanine herding Mareep, Silencer would shriek and confuse the masses into submission and Thermite would grab some of the more vulnerable Pokemon and cuddle them, sometimes leading them to great pain. Aggron loved, Aquila had come to notice, cuter Pokemon. So it was a double shocker when Aggron picked a Rhydon from a crowd and hugged it to her barrel-like body and squeezed the big rock Pokemon.

She never let the rock Pokemon out of her sights from then, constantly stomping over to drag him from trying to get out of her range. Aquila watched her from a branch of a tree in the Safari Zone as Stalker rounded up rare Pokemon with a loud cackle. Petrel's Koffings spun around the group with threatening coughs, filling the area with smog while Pokemon stumbled around in a haze of confusion. Really, these missions were so easy. The wild Pokemon trusted their little group of Pokemon until they realised they were led into a trap, every single time.

Eventually, Aggron stomped up, holding the Rhydon against her and roared up at Aquila, her blue eyes shining. "What, Thermite? You want to keep 'im?" Aggron let out a metallic screech, squeezing the Pokemon and nuzzling her face into his. Her owner looked at her pensively before sighing. "Fine, you need a friend." Thermite stomped, spinning the Rhydon around happily. The rock Pokemon in her grip looked absolutely floored by this decision. Still, Aquila hoped that he'd grow to like her enough in time. That's how that worked, right? Silencer hadn't been exactly friendly to a new addition either, but they had grown to be great partners anyway.

Her fresh, yet healed, coloured tattoo shined in the sun as more Pokemon were corralled by the sneaky Haunter who teased them into submission to follow him through the confines of their usual hiding spots. Aggron still held the Rhydon by his horn, and it peaked Aquila's interest that she had picked that particular Rhydon out of the crowd of Rhydon and Rhyhorn. He was unusually energetic, stomping on her feet and trying to ram his horn into her side to escape but it only agitated her, making her strike out and slap him across the face with her tail here and there before hugging him as if apologising for hitting a bit too hard.

She spotted her partner prancing through the trees, a net dragged behind him, which he tossed into the crowd. She jumped down from the tree, peering into the net and she felt her eyes light up when she saw the crew of Dratini and Dragonair. Giovanni would be pleased with that particular catch. She gave Petrel a high-five. "Good catch. I think we're good here," she smiled wide.

"Definitely. I already called the copters. Safari Warden won't even _know_," he said happily. "We gotta watch the news when they flip the fuck out that a lot of rare game has vanish - hey what's up with Thermite?"

Aquila peered over her shoulder, sighing heavily, "she found a partner in crime." The Rhydon, now fainted, was cradled against the black barrel of a body and Aggron screeched, making the two humans grit their teeth from the sound. "Dunno why, but she likes that one."

"No chance in tearin' 'em apart?"

"Hell no."

The helicopters arrived soon after, grunts pouring out to contain Pokemon in stronger Pokeballs than the usual Safari Balls that the crowd had become accustomed to dodging and breaking. They watched as Chansey were sucked into Ultra Balls and stowed into crates. Their haul was worth millions. "Boss's going to be donating the Chansey."

"What?" Aquila asked suddenly, looking at the High-Ranked Officer who spoke up.

"He always donates the Chansey, it makes him look good, I guess. Always to Pokemon Centers that are way understaffed, like those ones in slums," he replied with a shrug. "Shame, those things go for _tons_, people like Blissey. Especially if they already have Skarmory, or if we bundle 'em."

"Where do people find Skarmor - _hey_," she looked back, "leave that one," Aggron shrieked at the grunt who was trying to wrench the Rhydon away, her tail glowing viciously, "that's Thermite's." The grunt looked back and shrugged, letting the Rhydon go. "Where are people finding Skarmory at?"

"Johto... we don't go there often but," the man's voice lowered, "I hear Boss has plans to set a base up there." Petrel moved in closer.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I dunno why, it's a poor as shit region, but whatever floats his boat, I guess."

"Goldenrod City though," Petrel said, "isn't poor. They get a lot of money from tourists for their gold streets."

"Yeah, but do tourists even pay for Pokemon?" Aquila countered.

"Yes," her partner seemed almost offended, "_of course_ they do. Idiots think that's how it works in Johto. _Oh, a rare Skarmory and Chansey, ohhh, only fifty thousand Pokeyen!_" He chimed in a sing-song voice.

"Oh."

"Johto has its own issues, though," the lower officer spoke up again, "we have to deal with some punks trying to copy us. Some shitty burglars and such. I don't imagine it'll be hard to weed them out."

"Or recruit them," Aquila whispered darkly. "We've got plenty of that biker gang that used to hang around Celad-"

"_Still_ hang around Celadon," Petrel corrected. "They stay down and hidden now, but we offload tons of meth to them."

"Which they just use themselves," the other officer cackled. Stalker joined in, cackling over Aquila's head. "They're pathetic."

"Well, they're so _insignificant_," Aquila said with a wave of her hand. "Back when I was a kid my mom wouldn't _shut the fuck up_ about them, but now you hardly see the fuckers. They're obsolete."

"Only 'cause they forgot the golden rule. Sell what you make and buy, don't _use_ the shit," the officer barked bitterly. "Except weed. That's fine. No addiction."

"It's the law," Petrel chuckled, "Boss has already fired plenty of people down in drug production for that shit. You see the signs and within a week they're gone. Reassigned."

"They pour money into the Team after that?"

He laughed at her question, "absolutely. Their paycheques go straight to Team Rocket. Sometimes, I think Boss does it on purpose."

They watched the last of the Pokemon get sucked into an Ultra Ball with a struggle and the High-Rank Officer saluted before walking off to his helicopter to take the captures back to Celadon's base, Aquila presumed. They would be sorted then shipped on the recently captured S.S. Anne. Still, her brain was on fire. Was the whole plan of capturing S.S. Anne Executive Surge's plan to help infiltrate Johto? S.S. Anne was originally owned by some company in Johto, but it had shook the ranks a few months back when Surge had busted in with his life savings gone and declared a tourist boat that raked in millions every year was now owned by him and was a new, direct route to Johto for Team Rocket (as opposed to the very risky route where they came under fire with the Elite Four). It had been under lock and key discussion between him and Boss Giovanni for ages, but he had finally scraped together the Pokeyen to do it. Team Rocket was free to do whatever they damn well pleased with the tourist attraction, and the press was all over Lt. Surge, Unovian owner of Vermillion Gym, for questions. His thick, barking Unovian accent had been all over Kanto's news rooms for days as he lied that the reason was about a cheaper alternative to a nice cruise vacation. Of course, he had been semi-truthful - he immediately lowered the cost of boarding to levels that even an average, middle-class family in Kanto could afford - but only because what lurked under the surface would make him more far more money than what he lost in simple boarding tickets. The crew had been left to deal with new hires, adults with scars and cigarette-smoke stained teeth who assured them they were to remain unseen by the eye of the happy tourists above.

It helped, of course, that there was an influx of people who wanted to board the cruise ship, so much that Surge had reported that they were booked for the next year already, slammed full of trainers with Pokemon potentially for the taking. All of their money more than paid for the trip to Johto, plus a tiny margin of profit, leaving the crew underneath the floorboards with nothing but pure profit.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when Aggron charged up, dragging the Rhydon behind her. "Thermite, I don't have a Pokeball for him, just... hold tight," Aquila said, patting the large Pokemon on the cheek. Aggron roared in delight. "We'll get one in a minute, okay?" There was a time when she would want to flee the scene immediately, not so long ago. Now, however, she wouldn't really care if Petrel said they should walk out the entrance of Safari Zone. If someone even bothered to say a word, she wouldn't be too hesitant to threaten their life, shake them up. There was no longer a pressing fear that she would be caught as the girl who was kidnapped so long ago and even less fear that someone would call the cops - perhaps even _less_ fear that she would really struggle against a couple of lowly cops who strolled up just because someone bothered to call and report a Rocket sighting. Guns weren't so frightening when you stared down the barrel of them constantly, only to manage to make it out alive with a scalpel and a few scars to add to the bunch.

They walked out of Safari Zone after returning the bulk of their Pokemon to their Pokeballs, Aggron not hesitating to rip the fence and devour it as a mid-day snack to let them through. Aquila told her to wait as she went into the Pokemart, chuckling when the person behind the cash register shook violently and moved their hand below the counter as she browsed the shelves of merchandise. "Please, sweetie, if you were going to grab a gun or press your little alert button, or whatever shit you have down there, you would've done it already," she said calmly, eyes dull. She slammed the Pokeball on the counter and pulled her wallet out, putting down two one-hundred Pokeyen notes on the counter, sliding them over with the middle finger that had the Steelix tail. The lady, teenager, rather, she noticed - she was only a few years older than this fear-struck girl; eighteen instead of fifteen like this girl looked - stared at the tattoo for a moment before grabbing the notes as if they were made of poisonous fibres. She bowed slightly, eyes beginning to flow with tears.

"H-have a n-nice day."

"Yeah, sweetie. You too," Aquila sighed out laboriously, turning and hearing her audible sigh of relief the moment she opened the door. "Bitch inside just shit herself, wouldn't go in there if I were you," she said to a person who was about to walk in. The person stared at her for a moment with confusion as she walked past to meet up with Petrel and Thermite. She tossed the Pokeball at the fainted Rhydon, only for Aggron to pick it up for her with tender care. "In you go, too," she said softly, returning Thermite to her Pokeball. "Chick behind the counter looked like she had never seen a Team Rocket member in her life." Petrel laughed.

"She prolly thought you were gonna steal the shop from her!"

"Do I look that scary?"

"Maybe to teenagers makin' minimum wage in a quiet tourist trap like this," he offered up. "You only get a bit scary when you... smile and wield a scalpel at someone, to me."

"I get scary to second generation Rockets?"

"Only _sometimes_," he pouted, looking down at her. "And then, you gotta be _tryin'_."

She chuckled, latching both her Pokeballs on her belt, "so I have to be threatening to kill a man as tall as you?"

"Yeah, but they gotta be _compromised_, too."

"So Sato?"

"Yeah, when you almost look like you're gonna kill 'em and fuck their brains out, that's when you get this... scary _look_ in your eyes." She looked at him, trying to hide her curiosity behind a general dull appearance. It didn't work. "What?"

"Fuck their brains out?"

"Yeah..?" He tilted his head as they walked away from the scene, off to the east. "What about it?"

Aquila fell silent, looking straight forward with a frown. Was that the feeling? She wasn't sure _what_ she felt, she just knew it satiated a roaring beast within her very soul, and that after they got back after a kill, she would find herself in the shower or in her room, attacking her own body with her hands, pressed into a hard wall to force the feeling to dissipate. Of course, she hoped Petrel never heard her struggle against the wall as her knees would buckle and she would sigh out in pleasure from her own fingers on parts of her body she wasn't aware were _supposed_ to feel good. She only hoped he never would see her arched against a wall, _vulnerable_, breathing out to join the steam in the bathroom or the cold air in her room. And she _sure_ as hell hoped he never heard the few times she would whisper his name. But, she was unsure if that was the feeling. She knew what sex was, if only vaguely, tinted in a shade of red by her anger at Dvina, but she would always forget it ever happened in those moments. She felt his eyes on him and narrowed hers.

"...Hey, let's get Chinese, it's on me," he whispered after a moment. She could hear the caution in his voice. Was he scared? _Now?_ She looked at him for a moment. No, only worried, concerned. There wasn't a trace of fear on his features, just worry that he had crossed a line. She sighed, a broken sigh, realising she needed to loosen up around him, for the millionth time.

"Yeah, let's do that," she smiled when he smiled at her, his eyes lighting up as he realised she was going to be okay after all. "And rent some shitty films while we're at it." He showed his teeth in his smile as he plucked a cigarette into his lips.

"Sounds like we got a date night," he chuckled and she joined him, shoving him lightly.

"Only in your dreams, horny slut." He laughed and she smiled. Well, it was _true_, or, had been. He had slowly stopped bringing girls in over time, much to her delight. It meant she didn't have to listen to a girl moaning in the other room and it meant she got to have him for herself, for whatever they decided to do that night. It didn't even make her _question why_, she just realised he had stopped bringing in random girls over time.

"I'll have you know I can get any girl I want-"

"But you don't."

He breathed smoke down into her face, "I got tired of easy bitches and wanted a challenge, that's all."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever _heard_," she said, looking up at him incredulously.

"Hey, now, if I get the prize, I'll crack someone who is harder to crack than a Metagross," he smiled wide, looking at the sky.

"Who is it?" She asked, although she found she wasn't sure she really wanted to know the answer.

"Pffft, I'm not tellin' you," he said with a cackle, breathing out smoke. "That's my secret."

Aquila frowned, "I could always try and scare her into-"

Petrel stared at her, his eyes wide, "Aquila, that's not how you get..." he trailed off when he realised she was serious.

"Oh. But if she's not a Rocket who could deal with that, then what's the point in wanting her?"

"I... she's a Rocket but-"

"Okay, then she wouldn't be so scared, would she?"

"Aquila, you can be scary as _shi-_"

"So she's definitely not a second-generation Rocket?"

"You're not scarin' her!"

"Well, I don't even know who she is," she peered back up at him, rusty eyes shining in the sun, "but if I _did_..."

"_You're not fuckin' scarin' 'er!_" He repeated louder.

"But come on, then she would get sympathy for you and take you-"

"I'm not an abused puppy!" He shouted angrily, stopping in his tracks. Aquila looked at him for a moment, sighing and slumping over.

"I didn't say... I'm sorry," she whispered after a moment. "Sorry." She walked ahead, leaving him alone to sulk. It was another ten minutes when they hit Lavender Town that he caught up and walked beside her.

"Don't worry 'bout it," he said finally. "But you're not scarin' her just so she thinks you're tormentin' me or some shit."

"Well, it would be effective," she whispered, smiling sheepishly. He shoved her after rolling his eyes, making her stumble to the side. "_Super_ effectiv-" he shoved her again, sending her onto her side, but she stood and laughed. "Oh come on..." He was smiling though, nonetheless.

"Let's get some fuckin' Chinese food."

* * *

**A/N: Aquila is naive as fuck. Guuurl, there is a whole Internet right in front of you, with terabytes of porn. D; Go figure out what you _want_.  
Also, there were a few times I cracked up.**

**I swear one day I'll draw fanarts of all this and post links. One day.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Will you step in line or release the disclaimer?**

* * *

"I swear, this is my favourite shit in the world," Petrel said, mixing a mound of greasy noodles in a cardboard box, his eyes lit up. Aquila looked back from the DVD player curiously.

"Watching shitty rom-coms and Chinese?"

"Fuck yeah!"

"You're such a girl," she said with an amused sneer. "Guess this is why you're the nice guy of Team Rocket."

"Easiest way to get into a girl's pants is to like the same shit she does," he purred out, "but over time you just kinda... appreciate the shittiness." She laughed.

"I guess," she said, hopping back to her own pork-fried rice as the logo screen blared at them. "Maybe Sabrina did the same thing, fucking bitch."

She wouldn't admit she really liked the ridiculous, over-the-top, mushy scenes they watched, the ridiculous couple-humour that she didn't _quite_ understand, but when Petrel laughed, it would make her laugh every time. Then again, Petrel never admitted he actually liked them too, only that he 'appreciated the shitty aspects' and that they reminded him of 'simpler times in life'. Still, she would watch him lean forward at pivotal moments before the naive as hell couples would admit they actually liked each other or get _so close to kissing_ then get interrupted. She wondered if he noticed how much she would watch his reaction instead of what happened on the screen.

Then again, maybe there was a stupid, feminine side of her that wished something like that could happen to her. She couldn't even tear her eyes away at one scene where the pair on screen were in bed, the guy on top, their lips almost touching before they snapped away from each other. Petrel's groan echoed in the room. "Oh come the fuck _on, _dude." Aquila cackled. "Bitch wants your _dick_ and you pull away come on." He shovelled a pile of fried noodles in his mouth in disappointment.

Maybe there was a part of her that wanted it.

It was only at the end of the film that the sexual tension got the best of both characters and Aquila watched with mild interest as they tore clothing off one another. It wasn't fast enough, violent enough, aggressive enough for her. Of course, films weren't directed by Team Rocket, so the idea that they _would_ be aggressive was off the table, but she pouted when watching, unconsciously. When it ended she looked at Petrel curiously.

"Has any of that," she waved her hand at the credit screen, "happened to you?"

"Eh?" He looked over, his eyebrow raised.

"I mean," she subconsciously touched the two piercings on her lips with her left hand, "have you ever been with a girl and shit like that happen?"

He laughed, "I don't have to even bother with that shit. These films are made for horny women."

"Oh..." she pushed the piercings, rolling them back and forth.

"Why you ask?"

"I was just wondering," she replied with a sheepish smile.

"No..." his eyes glittered and she felt herself move back a fragment. He pulled his legs up and moved in closer to her and she felt her heart pound as his face moved in closer, his torso stretched over her knees. "No," he whispered, putting his arm out and holding the back of her neck with a grip she had never felt him use before. It was hard, sharp, using only his fingers around her spine. She could feel the blood pool in her face. His fingers ran in circles on her neck and he tilted her head back with the force, applying more pressure. She looked down at him, her mouth slightly open. "No, I have other methods," he whispered, and she could feel his breath hit her neck, hot like car exhaust, then spread out in a puff.

Then he was gone, grabbing the glass bowl as if nothing had just happened, as if he had moved from the credits screen to the bowl, crushing weed into it. She stared at him, eyes wide, finally releasing a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Oh."

He chuckled darkly, crushing the bud in his fingers. "I don't need to worry about sexual tension," he said, in a tone like he used in the medical wing. No more husky, breathy whispers remained. "I get them every time."

Aquila could only stare and blink. He seemed so normal, as if he was _so used_ to teasing like that. She still felt the blood in her face, refusing to settle like normal. She watched him when he lifted the bowl to his lips and gritted her teeth. "That wasn't fucking cool."

"What?" He asked, pulling the bowl away before he lit it to look at her with curiosity.

"I..." she swallowed and narrowed her eyes. "Don't..." His lighter flicked. "You're a fucking bastard." With that, she unfolded herself from the couch and went to her room, unsure of why she was angry. She could feel his eyes on her the whole way.

* * *

It really was his favourite shit in the world. Chinese food, a dark room, shitty romantic comedy flicks and being with a girl. Granted, normally he wasn't stuck with a cold-hearted, sexually naive girl, but that didn't matter, because the cold-hearted, sexually naive girl he was with was who he had zeroed in on, with narrow vision like a Garchomp chasing after a lost Bagon to munch on. It kinda sucked. After all, this was a catch that was more like an Aggron chasing after a Jolteon, it seemed hopeless, but one wrong play for the Jolteon, and there would be an Earthquake reigning down upon it.

Well, maybe not that violent, but _still_.

He wasn't even sure if it would be good, the sex, or a relationship - Aquila was an emotional brick wall, never showing anything true, just showing anger and annoyance, and they fought quite a bit. And maybe it was too stressful anyway, it wasn't like he made her really happy. But then he would see her smile at him after a job well done, after getting their tattoos, whenever he was obviously feeling down, and he would remember why he bothered at all. This wasn't like Gauntlet, who had gotten her nickname because it turned out her fucking twat was every Rocket's dick-gauntlet, but who he had, unfortunately, fallen for _anyway_, this was a girl who was so shut up she might as well run around as an android designed to kill people by Giovanni. But it was okay, he was master of insincerity (and yet, 'the nice guy of Team Rocket'), and she was the master of truly not understanding sincerity. Hell, in Petrel's books, that was perfect enough for him.

Then again, maybe she wanted _that _violent, as violent as an earthquake hitting a Jolteon.

The chick flick was a total fucking bummer, a pile of shit from across seas with more stereotypical scenes in it than Petrel could almost stomach. He knew from the beginning that it would be another sexual-tension-til-the-very-end flick, but at least there were some scenes that made him laugh and some where he thought maybe it would shock him after all. No luck.

"Has any of that happened to you?"

_What?_ The question felt out of left-field, as if from a ten year old girl and not his eighteen year old partner in crime who had more kills under her belt that possibly Giovanni. "Eh?" He made sure to only be mildly shocked, but his brain was reeling. What the fuck?

"I mean have you ever been with a girl and shit like that happen?" He watched her touch her piercings. How cute. Between that and her naivety, he laughed. It was such an obvious motion to him, so genuine, it hurt. And, he could tell, she wasn't aware it was happening. The Steelix tail ran over steel in her lips in anxiety. _So_ cute.

"I don't have to bother with that shit. These films are made for horny women." Well, it was _true_. They were made for horny women and, truth be told, he hated sexual tension. He didn't bother with it because it wasn't worth his time. Still, he looked at her with interest.

"Oh." He could hear the dejection in her voice. _Does she think this shit is like reality?_

"Why you ask?"

"I was just wondering." Her smile made Petrel's chest light on fire. It was so rare, and it was a double rarity that it would be such an innocent smile, full of knowing she sounded as naive as she was.

"No..." It was a switch in his brain. Now, he could know, now, there could be closure. His brain told him to move, and he simply obeyed the signals as if they were the guiding light of a lighthouse at sea. He moved without thinking, looking at her with unshielded interest, ignoring the small movement she made away from him - that was normal, and she had told him herself that it meant nothing. "No," he stretched out, their faces too insanely close for even his liking, but he smiled when he saw the blood rushing to her face the moment he took a hard grip on her neck. Of course. "No, I have other methods." He moved his face to breathe on her neck purposefully, looking up at her eyes. And that was all he needed. The need, the _want_, the **desire**, it shined in her eyes like priceless diamonds. That was all he needed.

Petrel didn't care to look at her shock and surprise, but he regretted it the moment she said, "that wasn't fucking cool."

"What?" It was the first time he looked at her after that moment, his eyes full of confusion.

"You're a fucking bastard." He looked at her one last time, watching the low light of the flame in his hand dance off the highlights in her hair. He let the lighter extinguish in his hand, the weed untouched by the fire. _Shit_. He swallowed heavily, before smiling darkly.

"Yeah, well, you're a bitch," he whispered, lighting the weed up after she slammed her door. Well, he knew what he needed to know, she wasn't entirely incapable of arousal, and he could cause it. But her reaction said more than that, her insane denial and lack of filter spoke more than her anger. She wasn't angry at his actions. She was angry at his sudden _lack_ of actions. He watched the smoke with a concentrated look. The moment he coughed, he watched the smoke billow out over the title screen on the tv, obscuring it. He turned the tv off idly, his mood to watch another film they rented demolished.

And that's when he heard it. A loud pant, before it was gone. Petrel smiled, darker than a Banette, as he shoved the spoon into a passing Koffing's mouth that he didn't pay attention to enough to identify. He lit it for the Pokemon before wandering to her door and pressing an ear to it. His smile was gone, replaced by a surprised gape, and his eyes were wide when he heard more of the panting, sighing, really. No, _moaning, _really. He was glad he had discarded the bowl for, Arsine, he realised suddenly, because had he not, it would be broken at his feet now. He could only just hear it, and he had to shift to allow room in his jeans for his reaction. He could just imagine her position, and he felt blood rush to his face with the mental image.

He had to move back when he heard the faintest '..._treeeel_' tacked onto the end of a particularly long sigh, if only for his _sanity_. Her privacy came second. He was so fucking _horny_, a lack of bitches through a rotating door would do that, but god_damn_. Arsine looked at him curiously, puffing out weed smoke until Petrel tore the spoon out of his mouth, smoking the remainder himself while he walked off his own arousal. It didn't leave, the effects of cannabis hitting him just as hard as ever and he grumbled something, walking to his room to snuff it out. He didn't even need _porn_ this time. And Petrel usually needed porn.

Was it rude to jerk it off the moment your partner in crime finished? He didn't really care. Etiquette be damned.

* * *

"Proton," she said quietly as she entered the alleyway. She had waited for Petrel to fall asleep before leaving, not wanting to confront him after her small explosion from earlier. She'd have to apologise eventually, she knew, but tonight was not that night. Aquila was frustrated and anxious, with the feeling in her chest returning, insatiable from merely giving herself pleasure. Well, sexual pleasure. Tonight, she needed something more. She had called Proton the moment she left the building, pulling him out of his sleep with only a few words: "_Tonight, we kill."_

He had quit bitching the moment he heard the last word, with a reply of 'okay' and a click as he disconnected. Now, she looked down the alleyway at a familiar silhouette, his hair taking shape similar to Golbat wings with a hat plastered on top. His general demeanour of arrogance stuck out like a sore thumb. "Hey," he replied with a dark voice. He still had a thick edge of 'child' in his voice, and he had taken to not talking much lest his voice begin to crack at random, but that was fine with Aquila. He was hyper enough in actions that he didn't need to constantly chat. It only wore her out.

They found themselves into a crowded room, some hole in the wall strip club in the dregs of Saffron City, where they had slipped through the back door with ease. Proton was the first to cackle at the scream of the stripper as they broke in and he moved in on her with blinding speed and a flash of light as he pulled his knife out and pressed his body to her back. "Hey, darling, hey," he said, his voice still a bit squeaky with sleep, "shhhh."

Aquila looked around, slinking around the dressing room with mild interest. She wasn't there to steal, but when a little white ball caught her eyes she moved forward, bending over the table to grab it and wrench it free of its hiding spot. "Ahahaha, oh, Proton," she whispered maliciously, "do what you're gonna do and all, look what _I_ found." She held the eight-ball of cocaine in the air and Proton glanced up from where he was looking at the stripper's chest to look at her.

"Oh," he said, slitting her throat, his interest in her body gone. Aquila had never tried it before, the white substance, but there was a first time for everything, surely? And anyway, between the heavy beats outside the door and Proton's energy pushing her into a different personality, well, she opened the bag carefully, grabbing her scalpel to slit the cocaine up. Proton, however, had already used coke multiple times and he moved forward, cleaning his knife off and piling some of it on the blade carefully. "One, two..." Aquila glanced up.

"Three," she whispered, snorting it off her scalpel. She felt her teeth grit from the pain before she followed Proton's loud hiss of air. The room was so much brighter, as if the sun had landed in their vicinity, and, she glanced around with a big smile, she felt _fantastic_ all of a sudden. They slipped out of the room, into the crowd of men and strippers and Aquila could hear Proton jump on his next prey immediately, his voice ringing out to stop the music. She glanced over, slinking beside a man to watch his actions. The stripper he had a grip on looked mildly uncomfortable, his hands on her, throwing Pokeyen over her whenever he seemed to remember. Aquila glanced between them going over and leaning over the back of the man, who looked up in confusion.

Once they made eye contact, Aquila shoved the stripper forward, making her trip into the stage and she grabbed the pervert by the neck forcefully, cutting her tongue with her scalpel and smiling down at him as she licked her teeth. "Hey, sexy," she purred, ignoring the ensuing chaos around them. People were running, calling the cops. Their fun would only last a moment, and yet, it felt like an eternity. "I saw you had your hands on my little," she slid blood off her tongue onto her teeth, the pain not registering to her in her frame of mind, "girlfriend over there."

"Wh-?"

She let the blood roll off her tongue onto his face and he flew off the handle, jumping off the chair and at her suddenly and she cackled. "Feisty one, eh!?" She felt time slow down tremendously as she evaded his punch, running her teeth down his exposed arm to cut into it and thrusting her scalpel into his jugular. "Fuck off," she spat, looking down at him as he struggled to breathe. She shifted, arching her back as she closed the hole up with the toe of her boot. She could feel her breath rush, her blood rush between her legs, the familiar wetness pressed against her underwear. She was blind to the man below her, in actuality, relishing the sound of his laboured breaths as she ground her food into his wound. "Maybe you shouldn't've been such a pervert," she said softly, smiling wide before she jumped, smashing his throat in.

"Aq! Time to bo_unce_!" Proton shouted, his voice cracking audibly. She looked back down at the man before catching up to Proton as he jumped through a back window and climbed up a fire-escape ladder to a building. She got halfway up the ladder when the police busted in. They jumped across buildings before they sat to watch the cops, like they did every time. They smoked their cigarettes as their highs died, the manic smiles disappearing with it. "Why tonight?" He asked, looking at her curiously.

"Petrel and I got in a fight," she whispered back, biting one of the rings in her lip in guilt.

"Ya gonna apologise again?"

"I always do."

Proton laid back on the rooftop, looking upwards. "D'ya think we're ever gonna get caught?"

"Yeah, one day. One day we'll just be too slow." She paused then added, "but there better be a lot of cops and no cocaine around." They laughed.

"I mean, ya think one day they're gonna get enough descriptions of us to catch us in the streets?"

"No. Honestly, if it hasn't happened yet, they're not going to." She looked at Proton, realising his fears had been addressed. She put a hand on his upper arm. "If you're worried about it, Pro, we'll kill the witnesses, too."

"I'm not worried!" He protested, but he nodded at the last part and she smiled at him.

"You're like my little brother, Pro, and you think I can't tell when you're a bit worried? We'll kill the witnesses from now on, so stop looking like that." He pouted, in an entirely childish way that made Aquila chuckle, but she didn't say anything about it. "I need to get back before Petrel gets up to take a piss and notices I'm gone."

"I thought ya were-"

"You know Petrel, even if we're fighting he'd be worried sick."

"Yeah," Proton said with a smirk. "So, why aren't ya guys fuckin' again?"

"I will throw you off this fucking building, Proton," she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Goddamn, I was kiddin'!" He smiled, standing up when she did. "Ya don't shut up 'bout him, though. Maybe you should stop lyin' to yourself?" And with that, he was running to bound across buildings without a formal goodbye. Aquila watched him before she left the scene silently, realising that admitting she and Petrel had got into another fight to Proton was easily the worst mistake she made that night. Her thoughts weren't on her kill anymore, and the beast within her _still _wasn't satiated. It was going to be a long morning, waiting for Petrel to wake up just to apologise. She sighed as she entered the flat and stepped over a cuddling Aggron and Rhydon in the living room. Rhydon was still having to be held in place, but she could tell the big beast was just _exhausted_ and didn't care about being so close to Thermite at the moment. Aggron had done a good job at bitch-smacking him into submission the moment he would get angry and try to tear things up, at least.

She locked her room with a sigh, sliding down the door and, after a moment, she heard Petrel stumble into the bathroom. She had gotten back just in time. She slipped her gloves and boots off before running a hand through her hair. She was exhausted now, trying to ignore the thumping feeling in her chest as she fell over on her side, looking out her window at the morning sunrise. Her floor never felt so comfortable.

* * *

"Look, I know you're still mad-"

"Eh."

Pause. "I can see it on your face."

"Eh."

"Aquila, look, I know-"

"Please, just shut up."

Pause. "Look, I made a mista-"

"I'm sorry, now shut up."

They stared at one another, her looking into dilated purple eyes with deep bags under them, and him looking at dull, rusty eyes. She could see his toes curled over his other set of toes, his typical sign of nervousness. Aquila sighed again. "Drop it, it never happened." He nodded without another word, if only for a moment.

"Er, Aquila..." he tamed his beard with his hand nervously, in deep thought. "You should, erm, you should check out the local news at some point."

"What?"

"Just do it," but he left her no choice, turning on the television to a newscast. She glanced past the entrance to the kitchen at the newscast, her teeth grinding soon after.

A woman with puffy red eyes was speaking to a newscaster, wearing slut clothing, and Aquila just barely recognised her. "I heard him say 'Aq', and they were gone, but it was so horrible, so horrible," she moaned to the anchor. "She shoved me-" she felt the tell-tale metallic taste fill her mouth, "and she said I was her girlfriend b-but I'd never met her and it was _horrible_ she just _killed_ him."

"We're sorry for your trauma."

Petrel jumped the moment he heard her fist pound the wooden table and the chair she had been sitting in crash to the floor. "A-Aquila-" he made a move to hold her back as Aggron screeched at her owner. "Aquila!" He grabbed her shoulders to no avail, she shoved past him and grabbed her scalpel, seeing red.

"I'll fucking slaughter her!" She roared, slamming her door open with enough force to crack the wall and break it off its hinges. "Bitch will _see blood!_" She grabbed her forgotten scalpel with a grip to make her knuckles white, just as a hurried, frantic knock happened at the door and Proton let himself in.

"Aq, _they know._" He shrieked, his eyes filled with fear. "They're gonna find-"

"What the fuck do you have..?" Petrel trailed off, looking between them. Proton was shaking in his boots, the fear of being caught a reality in his eyes, but his teeth were grit as hard as Aquila's.

"Pro, I will _kill them all_." She grabbed her Pokegear off the coffee table and slid her finger through her contacts. "Gargoyle-yes, I fucking _know_, Gargoyle, shut _up_. Get your group. Infiltrate the newsroom tonight. _Yes, tonight._ Destroy the tapes. Hack the system. I don't _give a shit_ how hard it'll be, Gargoyle, _do it_, or I'll _kill you too._" She threw the Pokegear away, ignoring it when, moments later, it lit up with Gargoyle's name flashing on it. "Thermite-" she didn't finish as Aggron took the hint and smashed it with her tail.

"Aquila you're not doin' this now?" Petrel asked, worry filling his voice.

"No, but tonight, I..." she looked at the newscast as she saw Proton's face pale at the two images of police drawings of them. She laughed, cackling from her panic, her head thrown back. "I, ahahaha, _I'll torch it all_ ahaha." With that she threw her fist into the flat-screen television, shattering the screen, eliciting a shriek from Petrel. "Pro, you stay home," she put a hand on his shoulder, smiling with bloody teeth, "you stay home and safe, I'll do it."

"Aq, they're gonna be all over the place!"

"Pro, I've _got_ this. You stay home, stay with Petrel if you want," she didn't look at him for permission, "watch all the little newscasts. Tomorrow, there won't be a word."

"How are we gonna do that when you're destroyin' our television?" Petrel said in a deadpan manner.

"Figure it out," she grabbed her wallet, throwing it on the table. "I'll be back." He moved to protest but she slammed the door closed behind her, grabbing a pair of gloves in the laundry pile and returning Aggron and Rhydon to their Pokeballs on the way out.

Truthfully, she wasn't sure where she was going, because she couldn't just go and slaughter the group in front of the strip club in the middle of the day. Still, she found her place when she crouched on top of a building in Saffron as night drew near, watching the police station. Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as she could tell. A bag was strapped over her shoulder, containing more explosives and fire starters than she had ever had on her at one time. Everything had to go. She knew her first target: it would get the police on a chase in Saffron for arson, while she made her way back to the moon was high in the sky and people settled around the city she made her move, letting out Aggron and Rhydon as she landed on the police station. "Earthquake," she whispered, hopping on the Thermite's back as they stomped, making the roof crack right down the center. She returned them, shoving a wad of diesel-soaked cloth into the crack, setting it on fire before she darted, not looking back as it set the roof on fire.

It wasn't long before she could hear the sirens from all over, of police units and fire engines and ambulances, off in the distance as she made her way into the slum of Saffron City. She could hear the strip club was already hopping and she slipped inside, pulling her hair into a cheap hat she had bought. For all the trauma the stupid girl had chattered on about, she could see her face clearly. Aquila smiled darkly, slipping back out. She barricaded the front door and sat in the back, listening closely to the room she knew was the dressing room.

When she heard her voice, and only her voice, she broke the door in, grabbing the girl by the mouth, and shoved a wad of soaked cloth into it, covering it with her hand. "Bitch," she hissed, shoving her over a table. Aquila put a knee up on the table beside her, arching her back over her. "You don't snitch on a murderer, you shallow cunt," she pulled her scalpel out, still bloodied up from the night before, and put it to her jugular. The girl's green eyes were wide in fright, tears and snot rolling down her face from the fumes in her mouth. "I killed a pervert for you, and you didn't even _thank_ me for it." She grabbed a piece of cloth from her bag, tying the girl's wrists behind her back. "Always thank your hero," she hissed, moving her head in close to the girl.

The world was a blur, and she could only vaguely see the woman in front of her as she breathed on her pretty face, her yellowed teeth gritting down on each other. She grabbed another cloth, tying it behind her head to keep the cloth in her mouth before she pulled her lighter out and waved in in her face. "But now," she ran her gloved fingers over the girl's mouth softly, eliciting a muffled cry of terror. Aquila smiled, hunching over her prey. "But now, you get what you deserve." She raised her lighter up, putting it to the girl's mouth and flicked it. She shoved off the girl, making the table fly backwards and she listened to her screams of agony for a moment from the far corner before she made her departure, leaving the girl to burn the building down. She barricaded the fire-escape door as well.

* * *

Gargoyle's fingernails were chipped down until they were bleeding. It was a bad habit of his, and he knew he should stop doing it (after all, keyboards hold more germs than anything else in the entire base) but he couldn't break the habit. It wasn't even an hour after Aquila had threatened him that he got his whole crew to work, telling his High-Rank Officer it was order from an Elite Officer. And, funny enough for bumbling Gargoyle, he was one of the lucky ones sent to the television station.

So lucky.

He was really bad at this type of stuff and he knew it. He was the kind of guy who could hardly remember to shower and who socialised awkwardly, and the thought of actually having to use his gun on someone was goddamn _frightening_, but here he was, in the ceiling of the room that held all their archives, peering down at the pretty news anchor that, sometimes, he would jerk off to in the morning to wake himself up. How had he got mixed up with Aquila, again? This wasn't even in his _job_ description, this was a job for scouts, why couldn't she just call Sabrina to do this shit?

He watched the news woman walk out, or, rather, he watched her ass walk out before he heard his comrade jump down silently. He frowned before doing the same, making a bit more noise, and they froze, but no one heard them. They looked at the day's file cabinet, grabbing all the evidence against Proton and Aquila and shoving it into their bags before they got back out of there. Gargoyle's breathing was laboured while he crawled through the ceiling after his silent partner. He really just wanted to get the hell out of there. They froze when they heard voices underneath them.

"The police station is _on fire_, roll the _fucking tapes_."

"They're busy," his partner whispered, and they scrambled forward to leave the building. When they broke out of the building, Gargoyle could feel sweat rolling down his pale face as he pulled a wad of petrol-soaked cloth from his bag with shaking hands and lit it up. Now, it was only a few blocks away and they'd be driving off. He shifted the bag on his shoulder before following his partner down the fire escape. When they were safely locked in a blacked-out car, he grabbed his Pokegear and called Petrel while he wheezed.

"Yeah, we got it... yeah, Petrel, they only keep this shit in one place like idiots. The," wheeze, "rest of hacking got all the police files and evidence pulled. Did you know," wheeze, "that the police station is on fire?"

* * *

It was a beautiful sight that she couldn't linger for. Aquila sighed as she left the scene on top of buildings. It wasn't too long before she was back in the flat, only to be tackled by Petrel, who hugged her tightly."Gargoyle called," he wheezed out, "they did the job."

"Good," she wrenched herself out of his grip to throw herself on the couch. She pulled a cigarette out, the first she had had in hours, breathing in the toxins and sighing them back out with a small smile. "I murdered that little bitch," she whispered, "and torched everything else." She glanced up at the new television idly, seeing bars of colour only. "What happened there?"

"...Ya mean... ya didn't do that?" Proton whispered, eyes wide.

Aquila felt her face crack with a smile, "fucking Gargoyle. Is that all channels?" The two guys nodded in unison. "That little bitch is getting vicious."

"What about the internet?" Petrel asked, "they'll repost shit like this in a minute." He grabbed his laptop and pushed himself between Aquila and Proton.

"Well, are there any hits?"

"I mean, there were a few earlier..."

"They probably already got those too, then." She peered over his shoulder at a low-view video, cackling loudly. "They already think it's a conspiracy theory!"

"_The government is just tryin' to hide what they want,_" Petrel read out loud_. "I mean, it's no secret that the government is tryin' to crack down on strip joints._" He laughed. "Wow."

"Are ya serious?" Proton leaned over. "Holy shit!"

"All in a night's work. See? I told you, Pro, I _got_ this shit." Proton beamed at her and she smiled back with a puff of smoke. "Big sister's got all this shit down."

"Thanks," he said sheepishly. "But, uh, I think we're gonna haveta slow down."

"Yeah, definitely," she whispered thoughtfully. "You get back to your flat, Pro, get some sleep." She wouldn't have dismissed him so quickly if she hadn't seen Petrel's face, wrenched up in fury despite the success. Proton nodded, taking her hint and left quickly. Petrel stood, locking the door behind him, his hand grooming his beard, a habit he always had when in thought. It was cute. His livid face was not.

"Aquila," he said as he turned. She watched him swallow like a scolded kid, in utter silence. "You can't at all."

"Petrel, we got it all cleared up."

"That's not _the point_, you almost got caught!" He shouted, fear in his eyes.

"Petrel, it's _done_ and Pro and I, we're not going to-"

"I heard you, but you're _volatile. _You just... you just fuckin'... why did you even _do it?_"

She stared at him, rolling the cigarette between her fingers idly. How the fuck should she know? She didn't even know _why_ she did it. It was just rewarding. It was fun. It made her feel alive. But that wasn't explanations, that was _feelings_. Cocaine, evidently, made her feel alive, too. But the substance was expensive and it was so short-term it wasn't worth it. "I don't know," she said after a moment. It only made him angrier.

"How the fuck don't you _know?_" He paced in front of her and she pulled her knees up, hunching over. Just like a scolded child. "I mean, who the fuck doesn't know why going on murder sprees is just somethin' that happens for them? Eh? I mean, even serial killers..." he paused, "_most_ serial killers like _you_," she flinched, and it dawned on her that that was exactly what she was, a petty serial killer, "at least have some vague explanation **why**. But you..."

"Well, what explanations-"

"Shit like, 'it's just fun', shit like, 'I like to watch girls scream and beg', I don't know! They usually have a specific type of target 'cause they're sick fucks, that's enough! But you-"

"I'm not a sick fuck who likes to watch people scream and beg?"

"...No?" He looked at her, genuine curiosity etched over his face. She shrugged. "...Do you?"

"I don't know."

"You know, you just won't say." Aquila felt her world crash around her as he continued, "you won't even admit to yourself, will you?"

"I-"

"You won't even admit for a fragment of a second, 'oh, I like to kill people 'cause it makes me feel more human' or whatever."

"I-"

"You won't even admit to _yourself_ why you like to do it."

"I-"

"You? You _what?_ You don't know?" He threw his arms out at his sides and she felt herself shrink into the couch.

"I do," she whispered, tears at her eyes. His arms dropped to his sides but she could tell he was still too angry to have his own light switch flick over to comfort mode. "There's just this feeling... you know, deep down. And the only way to _get rid of it_ is to kill. It's... imagine... being hungry. But the only way to satiate your hunger isn't from food but... something else. I don't know. Making drugs or something." She peered up at him, but his expression never changed. "But... this feeling isn't like hunger, more like... a demon locked inside me that needs being fed, but it thrives on _murder_."

"That makes no sense."

"Not to you, but to me it does."

"So last night..?"

She shrugged, "I just got angry."

"You got angry, so you stormed off, flit your clit and then went an-"

"I _what?_"

He sighed irritably, clawing through his beard, "you fucking _masturbated_, gave yourself pleasure, touched your twat, whatev-" He didn't have time to react before she launched herself at him, throwing them into the wall. Petrel growled, grabbing her and throwing her off him. He quickly took a stance, his fingers outstretched, his face livid.

She looked back at him, her eyes filled with insanity and her teeth bared. "Fuck you, I don't want to know how you know, fuck _you,_" she hissed, but she didn't attack him again. Instead, she found herself walking out and slamming the door for the second time that day, fueled by pure anger. She didn't know where she was taking herself, where she was going or what she was going to do - only that she couldn't risk leaving the flat, both for her pact with Proton and her own protection. Her head wasn't clear enough to realise where she was walking, until she ended up at Proton's flat, knocking heavily, another cigarette clenched in her fingers. "Hey."

"Hi?" Proton asked quietly, but she shoved past him, not wanting to chat about it. She stopped when she saw an older Executive peer out from the den area, her eyes and hair the same colour of red. Too late, time to chat.

"Yeah, uh, hey," she sighed. "Petrel and I-"

"Got in a fight," Proton finished. "Ariana, we have a guest." The Executive was easily in her mid-twenties, an odd pairing for Proton, because Aquila could tell from her general demeanour she _had _to be a Human Resources Executive. Even her hairstyle screamed Human Resources for Giovanni, perfectly prim. Her makeup was far too plain for any other section of Team Rocket. Aquila could already tell she was on thin ice by the woman's, Ariana's, piercing glare.

"Yeah, well, she's sleeping in your room," and with that, the woman went back to watching her dramatic soap opera on one of the national channels. "Keep a leash on your murdering pal, Proton."

Proton rolled his eyes, adjusting his hat irritably. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." He led Aquila to his room, closing the door.

"Why are you paired with _her?_" Aquila asked curiously.

"She runs drugs 'n' Pokemon trade, too," he shrugged. _Oh._

"You do that too?"

"Yep, professional assassin, professional drug 'n' Pokemon trader," he rolled his eyes.

"Sounds shitty."

"Those are the worst days."

* * *

**A/N: Lovebirds gotta fight. Come on, guys. More dick, less drama. **

**Ariana is kinda a bitch. LEIK, SHAER, FAVE IF U AGREE HURR. IGNORE IF UR A BITCH 2.**


	11. Chapter 11

**More disclaimer, less claiming.**

* * *

Proton had let Aquila use his laptop, if only because she had insisted that if she didn't do download a bunch of software and hack something _right then_, she would make a grave mistake, and she could tell it made him irritable as hell. Still, he had sulked onto his game console and had promptly forgotten about it, typical of a thirteen-year-old boy. She had even joked and jabbed at him that she wouldn't go through his files and look through his porn, but that didn't seem to be his issue, she noticed. It was an hour later that she felt herself wrenched from her self-appointed task at a loud knock at the door. Proton looked up too before looking back at the screen. Aquila could feel her blood drain from her face when she heard Ariana screech out "Giovanni!" and his gruff chuckle. Proton didn't look quite as concerned.

"It's nothin'," he insisted, going back to his television screen.

"What's he here for?"

Proton shrugged. "He jus' pops in, I dunno."

"Yeah, but _why?_"

He looked at her irritably, throwing his hands up with his shrug. "I _dunno_."

She dropped it after a moment when she realised Giovanni wasn't there to slaughter them for being on national television. It was juxtaposed to his usual behaviour - normally he would have beaten them into submission the moment he heard about the news - but she tried to shrug it off, pulling out a cigarette in anxiety. She hadn't even thought of Giovanni catching wind of the news until she was hearing his voice down the hall from where they were. But, she kept her ears pricked for the conversation, he didn't seem to be chatting about them at all, only interested in Ariana as she chattered on about unimportant shit. After a moment she tuned them back out, turning to the laptop screen.

It was long after the flat had gone quiet that she stood up and stretched, feeling a few bones pop as she did. Proton was passed out on his bed, cuddling his Zubat close and Aquila cursed, realising the layout of this particular flat was different than the other three she had inhabited. She looked at the sleeping greenette and sighed, opening the door slowly and stepping out quietly. She walked silently down the hall, looking into open doors for her target, a bathroom, but coming up empty. She slid to look into the living room and stopped cold. She could see her back, with his darker arm thrown over it lazily but possessively. Ariana had her face cuddled into his neck and Giovanni's face was smothered in her red hair. Aquila stepped away from the scene, eyes wide and unbelieving.

Still, there had to be a bathroom _somewhere_. She opened up the doors quietly before she found it. Why didn't Proton know why Giovanni came here? And _so commonly_ at that? Or did he? Her mind reeled. Was this common knowledge she just hadn't heard about? Giovanni didn't look uncomfortable or out of place. He wasn't even on alert, despite being nearly in the open, under a thin blanket, but _still_. She felt her face screw up in disgust. Ariana didn't even look old enough for him. _Eurgh_. On top of it all, her Boss looked so peaceful, the hard lines in his face smoothed out with sleep and relaxation. It was just weird to see overall.

She shook her head at the mirror, looking at her reflection, at the scars on her cheeks and deadened eyes. She was sure they were bright sometimes, she could _feel _it. But then, maybe they weren't. She had a face with as many hard lines as Giovanni - she shook the mental image from her head again - and it gave them some sort of connection, as if Giovanni had, by some extension, formed her by his own hand. She could still remember her original plans, plans from an optimistic child who thought, like all children, they could save the world and be a hero. And maybe there was some part of his intervention that had changed her, although she would never know the orders he gave to others to morph her into an apathetic killing drone. And, stranger still, all the other females of Team Rocket looked far softer than her - Ariana didn't have a single marking on her face, most likely due to her cushy life as a human resource Executive. Most of them didn't look so... _male_. She grimaced, turning away to look at the door. The flat remained silent around her.

* * *

It was a few weeks of incredibly awkward missions where, when they would show up in Giovanni's office, their boss would only smirk and take their reports. He never said a word, never scolded Aquila, and it made her feel even more out of place. Petrel wouldn't say a word to her other than what absolutely had to be said. He made sure never to touch her, even briefly, and he kept his eyes from coming in contact with hers. When they had to work in the medical wing, two days in a row, he would only talk to her when he needed something. He'd even taken to smoking in a different place than where they usually congregated at, a place unknown to Aquila. Petrel was a master of saving face at patients, however, because he would still crack jokes with them and make them feel better, but the atmosphere wasn't the same and their laughter always seemed to die a fragment of a second quicker than it would normally.

Still, she realised her normal partner in crime looked _terrible_. His eyes had dark circles around them, and bags under them, as if he'd either not been sleeping enough or was abusing heroin in his free time. The usual curve in his back only worsened over time, as if his usual lazy stance was made worse from the weight of his stress. He even seemed to take less time to work on his appearance, because he made no effort to cover the rings with a thick coating of make-up when he absolutely didn't have to, and his normally well-groomed line of teased spikes on his head never hit the mark, always seeming rushed and half-assed in a way that she knew wasn't like him. He never walked around without caring for himself.

And, too, the girls around the medical wing looked at her as if she was some kind of lethal poison he was about to be forced to inject. It made her see red.

The biggest break was, on the last workday they had together of the second week, Executive Surge's arrival in their wing, his boisterous voice and general demeanour taking over the entire floor of the base. The typical Unovian, he was loud, proud and generally unaware of the atmosphere of hostility that had superseded the usual calmness. He had planted himself right into Petrel's room, chattering with the younger male who feigned interest in whatever it was Surge blabbered on about. It made Aquila smile, if only behind her hands or the chart Petrel discarded to bring out a pair of needles.

So it didn't take her by surprise when Ariana met her on the rooftop of the base one late night, a month after their blow out, and idly said, "Elite Officer Petrel has gone off the deep end, you know." Aquila glanced at her, keeping her emotions under check. "I think maybe you should go check it out."

"Why? Elite Officers don't have to room together. We don't have to _work_ together."

"Because, you stupid bitch," Ariana hissed, stepping closer. Aquila scrambled to her feet, stepping back, only to stop as she realised Ariana had effectively cornered her, only centimetres away from her. If she tried to escape, the only way was to jump and, quite frankly, Golbat didn't have the mass to catch her mid-flight and not be killed as well. "He's off wasting his money on stupid shit, spending it left and right on drugs, motorcycles, sports cars, you name it, he's probably bought it in the past three weeks. And," she stepped closer and Aquila swallowed, "if you're too fucking dim to realise it, that's not normal for Petrel. He's going to get caught with all this illegal money. And he's going to get _us_ caught. And that will be all. Your. Fault."

Aquila stared at her, eyes narrowed, "he's a grown man, Ariana, this is his choice."

"Fix the problem you caused, or I'll fix it for you, that's an _order_," she turned, tossing her cigarette off the rooftop. "Boss has been too soft on you. You can thank Petrel for finding him, before Sakaki found you first." And with that, she was gone. Aquila watched her go, clenching her teeth together. But it was true. It wasn't normal for Petrel to spend money quite so liberally on anything other than food. He never bought big things. Shit, he refused to pay for things like internet and cable, preferring to just steal it from other people, though Aquila wondered if that was from paranoia over signing papers or not. He wasn't prudish, but he was incredibly cautious over things like putting his name, fake or not, onto paper.

Well, until he went off the deep end and started buying motorcycles and other shit she couldn't imagine.

She left the roof in confusion, unsure of how to approach the situation at hand. This wasn't like the other times, where they would fight and a day later they would apologise and forget it. She had blatantly attacked him, she had shown him a violent streak that she had never directed at him. And that wasn't something she was able to deal with by _apologising_. Would Petrel even give a shit? She entered the flat after Ariana, slipping by without saying a word. It was the weekend and she could tell Ariana was going to vanish for the night, probably to spend time with Giovanni or something, by the way she was covering her face with concealer. She threw herself in the chair in Proton's room as his Pokegear went off. She was sick of the ring tone already.

"Yeah, uh... yeah, why?..." Aquila watched the blood drain from his face suddenly. "O-Okay. Yeah." He put his phone down after a moment. "Uh, Aq..."

"What?"

"They need ya in medical."

"Wh-"

"_Just go_."

She sighed, standing back up and grabbing a case of supplies off the desk. "I'll be back, then." Proton nodded, looking distant.

There was something about the urgency in the medical wing that put her off, and a nurse shouted a room number to her when she passed, taking a medical lab coat off her hands as it was offered. Aquila broke into a run, charged in part by frantic eyes that watched her and, when she broke into the room she had been directed to, she felt her breath catch. The scene was bloody, but under the blood and chaos, she saw a set of crumpled purple spikes. She ground her teeth, looking at the Executive over the department who looked up at her after fixing an oxygen mask to his face.

"Move," she barked, walking over and grabbing gloves. When he made no effort, she shoved him into the wall, roaring at him to move again. He looked at her in fear before nodding, moving out of the room briskly. She didn't watch him go, looking through sharp eyes at the damage on Petrel's body. A nurse walked in quietly, face drawn behind her surgical mask. "What happened?"

"He... wrecked a Lamborghini," she whispered, handing Aquila a surgical mask quickly. The rust-haired girl moved in, poking at Petrel to check for broken bones. He was shattered, and she winced when she pushed a rib bone back into place, trying to be as gentle as she knew Petrel would be to anyone else. To _her_. She let the nurse work on the other side, hooking him up to a heart-rate monitor as Aquila worked to piece together her partner. It was a total clusterfuck, and she growled profanities under her breath every few moments. She didn't care what he had done to do this to himself. It was stupid and foolish. And she could have prevented it. It made her work harder, and she didn't notice as the room was coated in a light blue aura, or how medical tools seemed to float to her. Glass had to be removed and wounds had to be sewed. She had to open some further to check his organs for injury, only to curse in relief that Lamborghinis were built to prevent the driver from suffering in case of a wreck.

Well, they were worth two million Pokeyen a piece, after all. They had damn well better come equipped with life-saving technology.

She sat back after three long hours, flinging herself in a chair to listen to the steady beeps coming off the heart monitor. She could see one immediate issue: Petrel hunched over all the time, even when sitting. She had noticed his back seemed to refuse to straighten out, and the ear-splitting pop had made her rush to make sure she hadn't screwed up royally, only to realise his tell-tale hunch seemed more permanent than ever. She could only imagine his pain, even moreso when he coughed to consciousness and cursed loud enough to alarm a passing nurse into poking her head in.

He rolled his head over, looking at her with tired but bright eyes. They stared at one another and he reached up with a hiss of breath to pull the oxygen mask off and lay it to the side laboriously, his arm hanging off the bed. When he moved to sit up she darted over, putting a hand on a place she knew was only bruised to keep him down. "No," she whispered, "stop, you can't." He made no effort to refuse, laying back down. She could tell he was dizzy just by the effort. Still, her curiosity got the best of her. "A Lambo?" He nodded with a swallow and she moved to grab him some water. "Why?"

He would have shrugged if he was in a state to do it. "My back hurts like a _bitch_." She laughed quietly, a sad little laugh as she lifted the glass to his lips. She had never felt more concerned for his health.

"You should be happy someone from Team Rocket found you," she whispered. He nodded.

"I wouldn't have such a pretty face when I wake up in a normal hospital." She stared at him in shock, but he was unaware of what the issue was, due to the drug cocktail swirling around through his bloodstream. It wasn't long after that the same drugs knocked him back into sleep. She wasn't sure if just being in the medical wing made him crack jokes, if he was sarcastic or if he was being as truthful as he had been when he whined about his back. Rather, she knew he was truthful - plenty of people had made her more than aware that morphine made people blurt out shit all the time they never intended to tell - but she still wondered if he was joking about it. With a dozen little scars and a face of a serial killer, she couldn't imagine he wasn't at least half-joking.

Still, Aquila didn't leave his side, except when she absolutely had to, throughout the week. She used Petrel's Pokegear to call Giovanni and inform him what happened, to reschedule her missions for a week, which only happened after she pleaded and begged. She found herself sleeping with her head against his chest, listening to his breathing and, although she couldn't be sure, it sounded heavier than normal. Did the healing process make the body work in overdrive even when asleep? She didn't know. She hoped she never found out. After the week, she helped him stand on his own, watching his every movement from a short step to a tiny twitch to make sure he didn't fall.

"My fuckin' ribs," he whined. She smiled sheepishly.

"Maybe don't buy a two million Pokeyen car just to trash it next time," she offered up. He shot her a death glare. She glanced away, running her fingers down his back gently. "You can't straighten it more than this?"

"No."

She frowned, looking at him. "Try anyway." When he did, they were met with the same loud pop as she had made and he screeched in pain, grabbing the railing on the hospital bed for support, breathing heavily. She looked at the floor, biting her lip. "I'm sorry."

"Shit," he hissed, standing again.

They never once talked about his apparent suicide attempt, nor did they talk about the past month. They definitely never apologised for the fight that had broken out. It just seemed like the subject neither one was willing to bring up, to attempt to erase the event from their mind. Things happened that day that they seemed to mentally promise they would never do again, and that was that. At the same time, the whole week was a mess of Petrel trying to keep his eerie distance by night and touching her when he thought she was asleep by day. She would hear him sniffle from tears, and she knew it wasn't the constant stream of painkillers suddenly wearing down. He seemed so desperate to touch her that he would only ghost his fingers over her skin and claw a hand through her hair, stopping the moment a tangle would appear.

And in those moments, Aquila would wonder if they were really just two broken Rockets who were totally clueless about the outside world - her being taken in at nine years old and him being born into this clusterfuck of an organisation, and she would wonder if what she said to Ariana was true. _Elite Officers don't have to room together. They don't have to work together._ But there was a co-dependence set up from day one: a Rocket went from a large team to being split off into pairs, to the point that even the Executives seemed to run in packs of two's. Ariana and Archer, she had found out, seemed to work together quite often. Surge and Khalij, she heard, allegedly ran the Vermillion dock together. Giovanni, rather, Madame Boss, had set up the organisation to allow for freedom in the higher ranks, but when it came down to it, she had actually created a sick web of codependency that made the Team unable to work alone. From Agent to Executive, every member seemed to be attached by the hip to at least one other Rocket. Elite Officers were more than allowed to ask to work solo, but Aquila wondered in those moments if any of them did, because they surely didn't seem to exist, not even in Proton, who was linked with her on some missions, and a Spy whom Proton had never introduced her to. On top of that, she wondered, was there a single Rocket who remembered how the outside world ran?

Because if there were, she wasn't one of them, and Petrel couldn't be one of them, either. And maybe that drove them to work so well together, because if either of them could remember how people were on the outside, so nice and lawful as they were, there wasn't a single way they could maneuver themselves against lawful police officers, weaving in and out of their gunfire like they did. And maybe that was the glue that kept them together and made Aquila rush to help him despite being unable to apologise the moment he woke up from his unconscious state. She would watch him sleep when she knew he couldn't catch her staring, and he would touch her when he thought she wouldn't notice. And it was apology enough for her. She never wanted him dead and if she had known that it would have led to him trying to destroy himself, she would have worked it out quicker. It still led to another hundred questions, but the most pressing: what else had happened to Petrel over time that drove his decision to wrap a two million Pokeyen vehicle around a tree at over two-hundred kilometres an hour? It couldn't have been just that fight.

And what would happen if Ariana suddenly disappeared off the face of the planet? Or Giovanni? Would either of them run off and try to commit suicide? Then again, Petrel didn't act too much different than usual, and that scared Aquila more than she could imagine. Suicide attempts happened in the organisation - likely more per capita than the rest of Kanto - but she never imagined Petrel to be the type to off himself. Maybe it had just been a stupid decision in the moment. She couldn't imagine Giovanni running off the deep end, but she could imagine Ariana doing it. She got so ecstatic before they met up, or when Giovanni would come unexpectedly. It was so strange to Aquila. But it _did_ remind the eighteen-year-old of Petrel's general _look_ when he saw her the moment he woke up on the hospital bed. He had had a concussion, so it wasn't quite the same, but she had taken note of the sparkle in his eyes.

When they made it back to their flat, Petrel immediately grabbed his pack of cigarettes, lighting one up with a crooked smile. She grabbed one of her own, looking around the flat. There was a lot changed from Petrel's spending spree and it made her feel like it was a different world. There was another huge flat screen in his room and he had trashed his bed for a much fancier one that she could only just see from the living room. Her door was still broken down, leaned against the wall and she slipped over to it to inspect. Her laptop was covered in a film of thick dust and she noticed her partner had never stepped foot in there after the events of that day. It was as if she had been in a coma, except, had she been in a coma, he would have likely tried to clean up for her arrival back home. She bit her lip, rolling her teeth over the steel in it. She could almost ignore the sound system blasting out whatever was on the television.

"What?" He finally asked, "you thought I'd dare go in there?"

She didn't answer. It was as if he had been too scared to go in at all. She looked back at him, feeling a foggy haze over her mind as she lit her cigarette and sat at the end of the couch. "Petrel," she whispered suddenly, "don't be such a fucking idiot."

"Eh?"

"Don't do some shit like that again, okay?"

"Like wha-"

She snapped her eyes up at him, "like running a fucking million Pokeyen car into a tree!" He smiled innocently.

"I didn't know if you meant... a ton of things, okay?" He put his hands up in innocence and she sighed, smiling a small grin at him. It was as if nothing changed. It was so peculiar.

"Was it even on purpose?" A sudden feeling dawned on her - tonnes of people told her it was a suicide attempt, that he had done it himself, but he had never admitted to that fact and _nothing had changed_. Suicide survivors, she knew, they didn't just stay the same. Something had to click after such an event, surely. She looked at him with pure curiosity.

"No," he said suddenly, his eyes serious. "I'll let people think whatever the fuck they want. But it wasn't."

"Then wha-?"

"Some shit lord saw me, they recognised me from way back, I don't know, they shot, but it missed. Or maybe it didn't, 'cause I was goin' so fuckin' fast and they knew if my tire blew out, that would be it. It almost was, but someone found me and pulled me out, I guess," he shrugged.

"You don't remember who it was?" She looked at him as he sighed and laid his head back.

"Naw, but it had to be some jealous cunt. I have a feelin' it's a meth-head Gio kicked outta drug production, but who knows. They won't get caught. People just think it's suicide bullshit 'cause I fuckin' went batshit insane, buyin' up shit without givin' a fuck about my money reserves." His expression grew dark. "Look, I fuckin' stop carin' 'bout money, but I'm not a fuckin' idiot who goes and commits suicide 'cause my partner in crime leaves for a few weeks, okay?"

She flinched, unaware of where his sudden anger was coming from, but unwilling to press on about it. She didn't have to ask for him to continue, "you don't know this, but I've had a partner _die_ on me, and I _loved_ that stupid whore. She might've been a total slut for every Rocket and non-Rocket under the Kanto flag, but I was stupid and seventeen. I didn't commit suicide then, I wouldn't now. Especially not after blowin' two mil on a bitchin' car that's totalled as fuck now." She felt like she couldn't breathe, but she finally sighed as he stroked his beard and calmed his tone. "I was upset, but nothin' is gonna kill me if it hasn't yet."

She would have thrown herself at him to hug him, if she wasn't aware of his current condition. He had bandages around his torso and braces around his wrists, his back was hunched over in a way that seemed utterly painful to her and his face was covered in tiny little cuts that were slow to heal. He just looked rougher than she could put into words. Instead, she put a hand on his shoulder, unable to express apologies anymore. She could only feel bone, knowing he had lost quite a bit of weight in the hospital. She'd have to work to get him to thicken out to his normal, already-thin state.

It was only later that night as she fell asleep that she remembered, like a punch to the gut, that she had to work the next day.

* * *

She was antsy, in the two months it took for Petrel to heal. Killing police just wasn't the same as murder. There was no time to relish in the deed, only time to flee the scene. And it only made it worse that Petrel, too, was anxious to get back to work. He was worried every single night she left without him and, when he was closer to the end of his recovery, he would always have dinner and a glass spoonful of weed ready for her. It was kind of cute to her, but she felt like it was only a sign of his mental state cracking. He wasn't taking well to being pinned up in their flat day in and day out.

So it was on the weekend when he was cleared medically to work that she took him to his favourite little hole in the wall diner in Saffron City to let him get some fresh air. "Wait," he said quickly, his eyes wide, "follow me." He led her to a garage she was completely unfamiliar with and entered, only to be met with a grease-covered man in civilian clothing.

"Petreeeel," he said, taking Petrel's hand to shake it quickly. Aquila noted the custom and his Unovian accent at once. Executive Surge was also fond of shaking hands. "'Bout time you came back in, we thought you were just gonna leave us a motorbike for the takin'." He looked over his chest. "We got in your Lambo, man."

"Was it totalled?"

"Yeah, and some," he scratched the back of his head, "we might could fix it for ya, but... well c'mon." He led them into the garage and Petrel flinched at the black, angular car's condition. It had taken much more damage than he had. Aquila grimaced. "It'd be, like, over a million Pokeyen, man, and we just don't see ya havin' that. We can cut the price jus' 'cause me 'n' the guys, we like workin' on this type shit, but we can't fork out a million." Petrel nodded, stroking his beard.

"Can you hold it?"

"Hell _yeah, _dog, we can hold it."

"Well," he gripped the back of his neck for a moment and Aquila could see the mental calculations running through his head. "Well can you hold it for, I dunno, six months?"

The Unovian looked around at the space in the garage with a wide grin, "it's a Lambo, dog, we can hold it."

"Well, here's the deal, if I can't scrape the 'yen up in that time, we'll sell it and split it, alright?" This deal made the other man's eyes light up.

"Awesome, we'll see ya when we see ya, then?" Petrel nodded before he tapped Aquila's shoulder lightly, leading her to a black motorcycle. She stared at it pensively and he grabbed a helmet for her, handing it out before sighing.

"Nothin's gonna happen, relax." She sighed, shoving the helmet on and getting behind him. When he waved and drove off, she grabbed him around his chest and buried her face into his back, screeching at the wind. It was a horrid drive to her at first, but as they took the turn into Saffron City's slum, she was loosened up and watching the scenery flit by. When they stopped, she was almost disappointed and she could tell he was. "If only I could show you the power of my Lambo," he pouted, but she could see something in his eyes that struck her as peculiar.

When they sat down and had their food and finished idle chatter he finally turned his attention back to it. "There's no way for me to maintain that fucker," he said idly.

"Why not?"

"'Cause, I looked it up while I had nothin' to do. It's forty thousand Pokeyen just to change some spark plugs every few thousand miles."

"What're you going to do then?"

"Sell it to Giovanni."

"_What?_" She asked incredulously. He only shrugged.

"Giovanni would kill to have it, and anyway, he's on the market for exotic cars like that, I've heard. This way, he doesn't have to deal with shippin', like my dumb ass."

Aquila took a sip of her soda, some special type of an international brand that was rare. It didn't taste the best, but Petrel had suggested she at least try it. "So, what other shit have you heard while you're couped up at home?"

"Did you know Ariana's pregnant?" He grinned, chewing on a fry, as if in achievement. She sputtered, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser to stop soda from flying everywhere.

"What?"

Petrel shrugged. "She got knocked u-"

"Giovanni... _got her pregnant?_" It was Petrel's turn to stare at her in shock.

"Gio..?"

She leaned in closer, eyes narrowed in a sly way, "yea, she and him are kind of... a thing. I thought you'd know about it."

"I mean there were rumours-"

"Truths," she corrected. "I saw them together all the time over at her and Proton's place." She looked at her food, grabbing a fry to chew on in thought. "I wonder if Ariana's going to move in with Giovanni?" He shrugged, still trying to take in the fact that it was Giovanni at all. "I mean, it's his kid..."

Petrel grinned, a sleazy grin that Aquila didn't like. "Wonder if she's a loud one." She sighed.

"If you're trying to ask, I never heard anything."

"Damn, human resource bitches are usually the loudest." He grabbed his milkshake, drinking it in disappointment. She chuckled.

"If they moved in together and Proton wasn't around all the damn time, maybe." He grinned at her.

"But you're sure it's his?"

"It _has_ to be his, she's totally obsessed with him, Petrel... you'd have to see it to believe it. Whenever he comes in, she squeals like a little kid. Whenever they plan to meet, she's locked in the bathroom, prepping herself up. She's totally fucking obsessed with the man, I can't imagine she's taking out her want for him on some other guy, even when it's a couple days betwe-"

"Only a couple days?"

"Yeah, they met up all the time. There wasn't even a time a week would go by."

"Holy shit..."

"And Giovanni seems to be just as obsessed with her, to be honest. I mean, he could come, fuck her, then leave. He doesn't. And he's... kind of... _giggly_, if that makes sense." The mental image made Petrel cackle like a Mighyena. "He laughs all the time and shit, they're loud as fuck. Pro is used to it."

"Poor Proton."

"Looks like he might have a flat to himself instead now, though. Word of this is going to spread like wildfire, especially if the kid turns out to look like Giovanni."

"Dude, Aq, all he needs is _silver eyes_ and he'll be... _everyone's gonna know_. You know how rare silver eyes are?"

"But Giovan-"

"Madame Boss did," he seemed to read her mind, "and you know how that kinda shit jumps down the line." She nodded, chewing another fry. Of course she did. She looked nothing like her parents, but her grandmother had her eye colour and hair colour. They saw it all the time in the medical wing, although she and Petrel never worked in that particular section. Him because it gave him the creeps, her because they were worried about her mental state and working around newborns. And that was fine with her. She could do without seeing other women's twats for all she cared.

"But even if he had black eyes... and if Giovanni takes her into his house... so that's the next Boss..." she put her chin on her hand.

"Yeah, some little punk Ariana shits out is prince of darkness." They laughed at the thought. Aquila knew, however, that Ariana had her mind exactly where Giovanni had his. It was clear from the way she and Giovanni would unravel plots together, all the way down to how she handled her grunts. And, well, Aquila had figured out where her mindset was when she threatened to fix the problem with Petrel and considered his insane spending spree as problematic in the first place. At least Giovanni had knocked up a woman who had the right mindset for Team Rocket. The only other choice was Archer, and he had the problem of being unable to shove out a kid. His mind was, indisputably, a better place to be than Ariana's.

* * *

**A/N: Insert witty author's comment here. It's not that I have nothing to say, it's that what I want to say could be spoilers or something. Ah, well.  
**

**Oh, one thing I can say: I remember the days when I insisted I would try and not time jump all the time. Uh, I lied. This story just isn't a 'happens in a couple days' type thing and, you know, it might seem like we're almost done with this roller coaster ride but, aha, we're only, like, about to hit this fucker's stride.**

**Oh, there we go, witty author's _rhyming_. Thank fuck, we needed that.**


	12. Chapter 12

**More disclaimer than disclaimer**

* * *

She held her breath and then counted to three, staring at Petrel on the other side of the Magnet Train tunnel. En route to Johto, right before the train came underneath the Elite Four's chamber, where it gave Bruno's lair a threatening, earth-shattering feel. They could hear in their ear pieces as Proton chattered from his safe hideout in Goldenrod City.

_One._

The youngest member of the group had ranked up quickly, being the first to infiltrate Goldenrod City for Giovanni. He had offered up his services with a malicious grin, all caught on Giovanni's cameras. The kid knew no punishment, he put his hand on Boss's desk and leaned forward, grinning with yellow teeth while he chattered about how he could 'make shit work'. Their boss had been reluctant but had let him run off to Goldenrod anyhow and work his sob-story of his mother's death over with ease to a man who owned an apartment complex. He had instantly got a flat the moment he flashed his money and claimed it was from life insurance. And, well, Giovanni had been wanting to free up his flat for months by that point, having found no suitor for the greenette who could stand being around him for more than a month at a time. Ariana had packed her bags and, without any formalities, had left to stand by Giovanni's side. She was already months down the line of pregnancy, much to Archer's disappointment.

She had officially outranked him as Giovanni's right hand, as vicious as a Seviper even when more hormones were running through her body than anyone else on base.

_Two_.

They could hear Archer on the other line, barking out orders to a team that hid up in ceiling of the Magnet Train, ready to infiltrate the space. It wouldn't be long now; Aggron and Rhydon, Thermite and Tephrite, as they were officially named now, stood on the tracks, their short arms out but bodies ready to take the brunt of impact. Petrel glanced over at his team of Koffing and a lone Weezing, Monoxide. "Now!" He shouted, and they covered the entrance with black smog, moving back as Proton screamed the same command in his ear.

"Train will be the-"

_One._

They heard the train before they saw it, tearing through the smokescreen, but the brakes screeched as the driver tried to prevent the train from moving through the thick layer of smoke. Thermite shrieked an order at Tephrite and Aquila watched as Petrel disappeared behind the train, her two Pokemon sliding back from the impact, their roars echoing off the surrounding chamber. She glanced to the side as she heard something crack. "Thermite!" She shouted, running down the side, "chill the fuck out!"

They could hear the strangled cries of the conductor as he drew his last breath from the team of Assassins inside the chamber. Still, she and Petrel only had a few moments to gather their Pokemon comrades and board, lest the Elite Four realise the train was dangerously not on time without being told. She returned the two beasts without a word, running past their craters to jump onto the train with Petrel. When they got on, they drew out their guns. "Give us one cause of alarm," Petrel breathed, looking over the passengers who were in panic mode. "_One_ cause."

"We'll fucking slaughter you all," she hissed, leaning forward. Proton cackled into her ear piece. She walked forward, pulling her scalpel out and sliding the plastic covering of the blade to the floor. The train stuttered to life. She grit her teeth, walking forward when she saw the slightest movement from a man in a suit. She watched his eyes dart down to his lap a couple times before she darted, jumping on him and kicking the Pokegear from his hands. "What the fuck did I _tell_ you?" She felt the train stutter to life as she put the scalpel to his neck. "What the _fuck_ did I tell you _all?_"

The whole group of passengers stared at her as they dropped their Pokegears with audible clatters. Petrel walked around, watching the lot for any movements whatsoever. All attention was on her. "How 'bout you all kick your Pokegears from under your seats to the centre, alright? How 'bout we all play fair, eh? Then all of you can get off in Goldenrod and pretend this never happened." Proton cackled in their ears again, unbeknownst to the passengers who did as the purple-haired psychopath said.

She put the gun to the man's temple and pulled the trigger, holding her gun and scalpel out to her sides with a maniacal grin. She spun the pistol on her finger and twirled the scalpel through her finger tips. "Let that be a warning to you all, alright? Stay quiet and calm," she kicked their Pokegears into a pile, "and we'll all make it to Goldenrod without a problem." Aquila popped Thermite's Pokeball off her belt, letting the giant beast out. "Have a little snack," she said idly, waving her hand at the Pokegears. Aggron's eyes lit up, grabbing up the metal devices to keep to herself. The passengers stared with wide eyes.

As they drew closer to Johto's center, Petrel leaned against the door to the driving chamber with Aquila, watching the passengers watch them. They were all too aware of what had happened to the man who had disobeyed. Still, after a moment, she couldn't contain her dark smile. "You're gettin' close, Aq," Proton said idly.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah, we're getting close to Goldenrod." She side-glanced at Petrel before they pulled their guns out, pointing them again. "Sorry we couldn't keep our promise." Aggron looked back from where she had paced down the hall and ducked as they opened fire, only to reach out and grab someone who tried to escape to allow Aquila to shoot the person in the back of the head. What an awesome Pokemon. When they had emptied out their pistols, there wasn't a person left breathing who could even mention the hijack.

Not that it mattered.

The train turned suddenly, going down to the Magnet Train graveyard just northwest of the city. When they left the train with the other Assassins, she let Rhydon out as well. "Well? I know you've been _wanting_ to, Thermite, so-" she didn't finish her sentence before hearing an ear-piercing sound as Thermite pulled a chunk of sheet metal off the train. Rhydon joined her, pulling off the outer coating to get to the meat of the train. She looked over the small crew, just Petrel, Tomahawk and Javelin and smiled.

"Job well done," Petrel said. Tomahawk nodded.

"We got their entire fuckin' income for the next three months," he said, pointing as Aggron pulled up the metal from where they had stashed their entire fortune. There were cages crammed with Pokeballs, boxes that they all knew were full of cheap street drugs and other assorted equipment and far more. "We can _destroy _them."

"You can destroy who?" It was a greasy voice, full of amusement.

"Who the fuck was that, Aq? _Aq?_" Proton screeched, and she could hear his chair fall behind him. Now wasn't the time to reply. Aggron and Rhydon turned, stomping their feet in unison down the middle of the group to the intruders, a sleazy bunch who had pulled out their Pokemon. Petrel grabbed Aquila, pulling her just in time as one of them lifted a pistol into her line of sight. She breathed out, watching the bullet as if in slow motion as it made its way to Rhydon. Aggron shrieked, charging forward to protect the group of five. Petrel pulled his group of poison Pokemon out, throwing the Pokeballs in the air. Javelin and Tomahawk followed suit with a team of Muk, Weezing and Hypno and a team of Nidorino and Golbat, respectively. Silencer and Stalker left their Pokeballs to join the fray.

Aquila couldn't help laughing at the pathetic Johto Pokemon, a group of Grimers and Koffings who spat out fumes. The group was outnumbered, but their Pokemon, raised in the Kanto region, much stronger. Rhydon moved himself forward, roaring as if daring the men to try and hit Aggron.

"Hey, bitches," Tomahawk said with a big grin, "we got your whole fuckin' stash. How about we kill you too?"

"Don't be fucking cocky, Tomahawk," Javelin said, but Aquila could hear humour under his breath. Petrel was the first to pull his gun out and point it at the group of ten bikers.

"How about you lot run off to your godfather and tell him Team Rocket is going to wreck your fuckin' world?" He teased. Aquila smiled, pulling her own pistol out and pointing it at them, but she couldn't help noticing that once the situation looked grim for them, he gained a lot more confidence. It was a bit sexy. Only a bit.

"We'll see about that, Rocket," the other man spat. "You better get your little girlfriend out of harm's way again."

"Your little fucking train my Pokemon are going to eat in a minute isn't shit compared to what we have. If you want to live, you better fucking run and tell your guys that their game is up," she said calmly, although she saw red. "But then, maybe we'll just destro-"

Tomahawk was the first to fire, apparently impatient to standing around and talking. He shot the centre man before shouting at his Nidorino to attack. Aggron was first to charge after Nidorino the moment she saw a Pokemon threaten Tephrite. Aquila could hear Proton shrieking as they darted between shooting at each other and Pokemon attacking. She gaped as Aggron charged forward, ripping a man in two, an action that made the entire scene go to a halt as blood rained down as a threat to the remaining four men. Aggron shrieked, making Spearow and Pidgey fly from their roosts in the surrounding trees.

Javelin shot, relighting the fire of the scene. Still, it took Aquila a moment to jump out into the fray. "Tephrite!" She roared. The Pokemon looked back. "Come here, get Tomahawk!" The rock Pokemon nodded, stomping a Grimer into the dirt before he grabbed Tomahawk from the ground, inspecting him and shielding him from any stray bullets. She darted off again, only taking in the fact he had gotten shot in the shoulder, in the exact place where she had gotten shot so long ago. She looked back, grabbing Petrel and pulling him quickly, making the enemy and him miss their shot. "Go with Tephrite." He stumbled towards the large Pokemon who was walking away from the action and, without a question, ran after the large beast.

It wasn't long before the duel was over, only her, Javelin, and a crew of Pokemon left. The Pokemon, now lacking owners, looked around in confusion. "Hey, Aq? Are ya-"

"Yeah, Proton, I'm still alive, goddamn," she panted out, "chill the fuck out, we'll be there in a minute." She looked at the bodies before walking forward as she heard Javelin ask Petrel if Tomahawk would be okay.

"Yeah, be we better hurry," he said softly. She made a motion at Rhydon, who grabbed Tomahawk up. She looked at the body of the supposed leader of the group, pulling her scalpel out to carve into his skin. They walked out of the clearing to Goldenrod, making their way to where Archer and Proton hid out. Javelin helped Aggron hoist most of the supplies up.

* * *

How could people in Saffron City and Celadon City walk around so calmly, when Team Rocket kept themselves all around them? Goldenrod City didn't seem to be doing so well under the pressure. The simple appearance of a man walking down the street in black made people rush to the other side of the pavement, and the group of four, although they felt totally comfortable and loosened up, laughing amongst their group, made people change their target location altogether. And it was weird, because only they knew how vicious they normally were, how uptight Archer could be. But he wasn't now, having reluctantly joined Aquila, Petrel and Proton while they passed around a Hyper Potion. Who knew that shit would make you giggly and laugh like a maniac? It was like a different world, and yet, everyone feared them for no reason.

How peculiar, that people under immediate threat of a giant crime syndicate stayed so calm and collected, but people who only captured glimpses of a pack of Rockets here and there fled as if they were running around murdering people in the streets. Maybe the citizens of Saffron and Celadon were warming up to the fact that Team Rocket simply _existed_, and maybe they fit into society somewhere, too? However, the Goldenrod citizens strayed away from their own trouble, a gang of bikers who took to the eastern part of town. They never acclimated to their presence, either.

Tomahawk and Javelin had taken a helicopter back to Celadon not long after Petrel had fixed the gunshot wound with limited tools and had informed him that he may be out of commission for a while. Later, he had told Aquila in private that he wasn't sure if Tomahawk would ever use his left arm again. The muscle had been shred apart. It made Aquila worry for the man's safety and standing in Team Rocket, but Petrel had shrugged and said something about him moving to human resources or hacking. Perhaps medical. She suggested hacking would be best for him. There was still some excitement there, at least. It was a week after they had infiltrated the train, currently.

"H-hey, hey," Proton shouted with a laugh, "hey see that burned fuckin' house? See it?" He pointed beyond the barrier of the city.

"Yes, what about it?" Archer asked, curiosity peaking in his teal eyes.

"That's where I _burned my ma_," he giggled then snorted, "bitch had it comin', I jus', ahahaha, I jus' stayed home from school and bam."

"Dude! Man! They're gonna _know,_" but Petrel laughed anyway, hitting the teenager on the back. "Next you're gonna, ahaha, go up to the cops 'n' you're gonna be all 'hey, man, did'ya know', ahaha, 'that I'm a new High-Rank Officer in Rocket?' aha."

"Psh, what's a small city lot of cops, heh, gonna do, Petrel? Lock him, heheh, up? Kid knows his _shit_," Aquila replied with a loopy grin. "And anyway, we're _all here_."

"Whatever, Petrel, cops here are a buncha pussies," Proton waved his hand dismissively, bounding down the pavement, the burnt house forgotten. "You'll see when we take the city by storm."

"Raid on the city, knock out, evil tusks," Archer cackled. "We'll fuck this city right up."

"We already hurt the rival group," Aquila said idly, "now we just gotta set up a base..."

"Boss is working on it," Archer said darkly. "Right in the centre."

"Woah, really?" Proton asked, looking back at them, "I did that?"

"Yeah, you li'l punk," Petrel shoved him with a laugh, "you fuckin' did all this."

"Man, one sob story 'bout, hahaha, my ma."

"Man, I'm _hungry_," Petrel whined suddenly, looking around the buildings. "We gotta eat. Now."

"Petrel, you're such a, heh, whiny bitch," Archer cackled out, but he let Petrel guide them with his stomach into the first shop that smelled good. It was a dinky traditional ramen shop. The music was traditional Johto music and the décor was traditional, with Lugia and Ho-oh statues made of silver and gold adorning the walls and sides of the bar. Archer could only admire the prices.

"Holy shit, they're _cheap_," he noted, looking at the menu. "Where are these places in Kanto?"

Petrel giggled, "not there, 'cause we're fuckin' rich."

The shopkeeper looked at them curiously from afar, looking at their emblazoned uniforms and how they seemed to crowd in and fall over one another looking for something to eat on the huge menu. They looked like a drunken group of teenagers, with Proton shoving Aquila down to where she had to snake under Petrel's arm to see it and Archer leaning into his space to eye it curiously. Aquila growled, kicking out Proton's shin, making him fall with a screech.

"Don't you know, Pro? Elders first."

Petrel laughed. "Come on, Aq, he's hungry too."

"He can wait, he'll be fine," she crossed her arms, straightening her back to look over his arm. "He can hardly read anyway, he was looking at the pictures."

"'Ey!"

"Well? It's true," she jeered, smirking at him, "I see you struggle with spelling basic shit like executive. Do you even know how to read a single Kanji?"

Proton's face went red, "yeah, of course I do!"

"Hey now, we're going to get kicked out," Archer said sharply. The fell silent. "And you're all younger than I am, so quit your bitching." He snatched the menu from Petrel, looking over it.

Well, that backfired quickly.

They crowded around Archer, Petrel letting her duck under his arm to view it with ease. Proton's face slowly returned to its normal colour as he figured out what he wanted. After a moment they all ordered their soups, eating rushed and silent from their hunger left over from their Hyper Potion highs. Hyper Potion was a crazy drug. Archer was first to finish, leaning over the counter to chat with the shopkeeper.

"So, what's interesting in Goldenrod? We're just taking a little trip around here."

The shopkeeper didn't look so sure of that explanation but he seemed to disregard his instinct. "The bug-catchin' contest is today," he said with minor hesitance. "But there's a lotta history here, kid," Aquila glanced at Archer, who shrugged off the small name without an issue. She snorted in her bowl. Already dick-whipped by Giovanni, of course. "There's a coupla temples 'round here for Lugirians and Ho-ohans." Archer smiled gently at the man and Aquila watched a barrier of distrust wash away. "There's also some typical type stuff you see in Kanto, amusement parks and such, but I'm thinkin' you wanna see more about Johto?"

Archer nodded, "yes, we're curious about Johto," suddenly, the man's guard shot up and Archer leaned forward to make the 'R' on his chest disappear, "but only culturally. My friend Lance," Proton grimaced at the name, "here, he used to live around here. We just wanted him to feel better since he's been pretty depressed lately. You know, not seeing home for a while and such." The shopkeeper's guard lowered again. Aquila had to bit her inner cheek to keep herself from laughing. Proton had told her time and time again he was happier with Team Rocket than he ever had been in his life. "We figured if we knew more about his culture, it'd help him, too."

"I see," the man said, stroking his chin. "Well, your friend seems to be a feisty one, maybe he'd be more interested in the gym?" _Wow, that was the worst idea ever, yeah, let's take a volatile thirteen year old boy into a gym of nobody but girls, _Aquila thought. "Maybe the underground, where a lot of trainers go? There are shops down there too. 'nd there's a lot more culture in Ecruteak..."

Finally after another few minutes of him chattering, Archer seemed to have what he was looking for. "Thank you sir," he said, looking down to take his wallet out. They all knew what he was about to do was almost forbidden in the region, but they watched him put a ten thousand Pokeyen note on the table and slide it over with his fingers. "Thank you for the information."

"Sir, I can't-" Aquila could see the greed in his eyes.

"Please, I insist," Archer murmured, smiling wide.

"Sir, I _can't_."

"Please, sir, I insist," he repeated, never letting his annoyance surface in his voice. After a few more minutes of them battling it out, the man's greed finally took over and he pocketed the money with a very long, very genuine-sounding thank you. They left the shop after a few more moments, bowing as a formal goodbye. When they were out of the shop Archer rolled his teal eyes in frustration. "Fucking Johto and their culture. Too nice to know better."

"They're gonna get whiplash," Proton sneered, "when we take them over."

"Archer, you're too good at that shit," Petrel said, looking at him.

"That's my job," he shrugged. "I butter people up in a Team Rocket uniform on a daily basis."

"Why?" Aquila asked.

"Boss wants Team Rocket to become a good thing in the population's eyes. If he can make Team Rocket seem like a positive thing, then we can own Kanto and Johto."

"Own?"

"Boss's corporation already has its fingers in politician's back pockets. It already looks good to Pokemon Centers the region over. Now he's just trying to integrate Team Rocket into that same mentality."

"Isn't that dangerous to his reputation?" Petrel asked, eyebrow raised.

"No, because his corporation and our team work as separate entities."

"Who gives a shit? Boss knows what the fuck he's doin' and we just follow his orders," Proton interjected, and they all nodded. "He's a fuckin' genius. Now, let's get to that underground 'n' check it out."

"Agreed," Archer said, leading the group. Petrel shrugged at Aquila, who shrugged back.

"I remember where it is but I forgot about it," Proton said. "It's near the Game Corner..." he took the lead cautiously, knowing that Archer's usual stance of leadership was harsh, before getting comfortable in the front. He lead them in and down the stairs and Petrel groaned out. Bikers congregated around stalls, terrorising stall keepers, but Archer ignored them, leading them through the crowds. Pokemon trainers backed away from them, eyes cautious from the threat they knew existed in the neighbour region. Aquila watched Proton flash toothy smiles at them. "Hey, look down there," he pointed down a hall and the other three looked down the hall as a biker seemed to appear from nowhere.

Archer motioned for them to move, standing tall in the way of the biker with a malicious smile. "Hey," he said as the biker stared down at his short figure with annoyance, his eyes flashing and his jaw tightening as he saw the white uniform and the little shield on his chest.

"What you want?" The man said through gritted teeth. Archer tilted his head back and to the side but didn't budge.

"I _want_ to know where you came out from, and what's back there."

The man broke into laughter. "You? You li'l punk? _You?_"

"Yes. Maybe next time you shouldn't be so-" he jumped back from the hand that lashed out to punch him, his face contorting into a sneer, "obvious where your boys hide out." The scene was making other bikers look over.

"Hey, look at this kid, wantin' to know 'bout that door," he jerked his thumb behind him. "Maybe we should teach this kid a lesson 'bout fuckin' with us."

"Or maybe we shouldn't," a woman said, walking forward. She looked like a total whore, her boobs hardly staying in her shirt and Aquila swore she could see her panties from her short skirt. "That's one of those Rocket boys."

"Yeah? Maybe we should, then."

"And get 'em to carve their li'l warnin' into your body too?" Aquila smiled at this. So they _had _taken notice of her little carving, after all.

"There's more of us then this little shithead, bitch," he glared at her. "We'll send 'is body back on a silver platter to 'is daddy."

Archer leaned in, a small smile curling his lips as he whispered, "maybe I _am_ the godfather." Just as the man lashed out again, Aquila watched Proton run from the shadows and jump at the man, shoving his hunting knife into his neck. The woman walked back, eyes wide as he choked on the knife and screamed, trying to wrench Proton off him as he rapidly lost blood from a split artery that spewed blood out like a geyser. She ran forward with Petrel as well, standing around Archer with their guns pulled out. "Any other little cunts ready to attack, or are you going to tell me what's behind that door?" He grabbed a Pokeball from his waist, letting a Houndoom out that howled at the ceiling.

"Bitch, you gonna start a gunfight when you're outnumbered, you're a fuckin' idiot with no brain, ain't ya?" a man spat from the other side. Aquila let out Aggron and Rhydon, letting them take the gunfire with ease. It only bounced off them, maybe put a little crack in their armour, but that was healed over time with a Potion. "Oh, gotta hide behind your Pokemon, eh, little bitch?"

Aquila cackled darkly, tossing her gun at Petrel who caught it and held up both in front of him. "Just evening out numbers, cocksucker," she barked back, putting a hand on Aggron's back as she pulled a scalpel out. The two groups stared at one another, drawing their weapons. She felt the beast inside her howl with anticipation over the few short moments they stared one another down. Stall keepers darted, hiding upstairs to wait for the duel to die down. She looked at her targets, feeling her face twitch in excitement. Petrel nudged her with his hand and she looked at him as he mouthed 'be careful', then he looked forward and shot both guns at different targets. She and Proton ran forward, jumping at targets quickly. She watched as Aggron walked forward, throwing bodies with her tail into the wall. Rhydon roared, running at other targets to drill them with his horns. She could hear nothing but gunfire around her and Proton's voice, sometimes breaking off, as he chattered to her. Sometimes she would grab his arm, throwing him off target to get someone else who was trying to shoot. Houndoom spewed fire from his muzzle, howling at the group of enemies.

Petrel was dancing through the gunfire, his laughter echoing through the narrow space as he shot both the pistols. She looked at him when she reached the end of the hallway, turning to assess the situation. His face was contorted with the same feeling she felt, something she couldn't _describe_. He enjoyed this as much as her. Juxtaposed beside him was Archer, who had a steely face that told her he was in a different plane of thinking than them. He aimed precisely, with deadly accuracy. And the bikers around them were horrible at aiming, obviously with no formal training similar to how Team Rocket organised things. She looked back at Petrel who tilted his head as he laughed, shooting another person. She launched back into action, moving between bodies and slicing their necks with ease as they stayed distracted with Proton. "Head's up, Pro!" she shouted and he jumped off someone, knocking the breath out of them to avoid a shot to the side.

When she heard the gunfire draw to a close she felt herself standing on crooked flooring and she looked over at Petrel who was biting his glove with a shit-eating grin to try and stifle his laughter in the eerily quiet area. She looked at Proton who seemed as dazed and exhausted as she was, his chest heaving as he breathed, holding his knife by his side loosely. Archer stood with the same expressionless face as he reseated his pistol in his coat. "Quickly," he said, turning on his heel. Aquila felt herself nodding and following slowly, breathing heavily. Petrel waited for her to catch up, smiling at her. She looked at him and smiled back. It looked as if something seemed to click - like he understood. It was the smile of a kid who just suddenly _got_ multiplication. She returned the two bloody rock Pokemon without a word as they left down the hallway.

When they reached the door they stepped inside after Archer sent Proton in to check for cameras. He instantly pulled his hat down to conceal his face, before returning after a few seconds to shake his head and motion for them. They spread out, looking through boxes. "Hey," Petrel said suddenly, stroking his beard over a box, "Archer, you want this shit?" Archer walked over, looking in the box.

"Yes, pack it up and let's get out of here." Aquila and Proton met up with them to leave, taking the top entrance out. The two of them slipped their bloody gloves off, stowing them where they couldn't be seen to link them to the crime. The four broke out into a run to Proton's flat when they heard the sirens of police cars ready to find a bunch of dead bodies without a trace of them having been there. It was as if she had held a breath in the entire run, sighing out when they were locked into his apartment. Petrel tossed the box on Proton's kitchen table, panting. The youngest two looked in the box with curiosity. It was filled with machine guns and Pokeballs. No organisation whatsoever.

"These guy don't teach their men how to shoot _or_ how to pack their shit, do they?" Aquila spat. Petrel laughed.

"Hell no. These guys are maybe a tenth of the size of Team Rocket."

"Prolly less," Proton murmured, looking out the window at passing cops, "considerin' those were the only ones 'round their stash or somethin'. I mean, no one came outta that room to get us from behind."

"He's right," Archer said thoughtfully. "Petrel, we never got a surprise from behind. They're a lot smaller than we ever expected."

"Are you tryin' to suggest we wiped out their group down there?"

He laughed, "no, but I am trying to suggest that they're spaced out thin and we can pick their little groups off."

"Like creeps in this game I play," Proton piped in, "they're spaced out 'n' easy ta kill 'cause they're weak 'n' small 'nd stupid."

"We should probably tell Boss then," Aquila pointed out. "We've got to go back to Kanto tomorrow, we can tell Boss then, or..?"

"I'll tell him personally," Archer said. "You two aren't exactly his favourites," he chuckled darkly.

"Well, you're staying in Johto," she shrugged. It didn't matter. She wasn't trying to get on Giovanni's ass-kissing side anyhow, like Archer. She was ecstatic to get out of Johto, though. She was exhausted, between Proton's energy and Archer's domineering personality, she was ready to get back to her and Petrel's quiet little flat. And anyway, she had spent enough time with Proton three months ago. She could tell Archer was already tired of Proton's energy: he had already mentioned on several occasions that he was rushing to get a base secure for Team Rocket in Goldenrod City.

As much as Archer had protested over the next few hours that he _had _it and that everyone could run off doing whatever it was they did at night, he couldn't make them go see the rest of the city until he just called Giovanni on his Pokegear, hooked up to Proton's flat screen television. Giovanni peered at them with his piercing, judging black eyes, looking at their saluting figures.

It must have been how the people from Johto felt under the scrutiny of Lugia and Ho-oh.

"_Yes?_" He finally said. Archer breathed in before launching his report, as if he'd been rehearsing it in his head all afternoon.

"Yes, sir. We got in a sticky situation with the biking gang around here in Johto, but Proton made an interesting observation that I felt you would want to be made aware of, sir," Archer began. When he was beckoned on by their boss, he continued, "we had our backs against an open area of an underground tunnel here, where one of the members of the gang could have easily blindsighted and ambushed us. However, no one did, and we found out," Petrel dragged forward the box of Pokeballs and weapons, "that was their little storage unit."

"_So what are you trying to say, Archer?_"

"I'm trying to say, sir, that these people are likely not big in number. They're a small group, spread thin in tiny groups. They may not be as big an issue as we originally suspected."

"_They weren't a big issue to begin with. A minor threat._"

Archer nodded, cracking his knuckles nervously. "Yes, sir. They may be no issue at all."

"_Have you found a suitable building for a base?_"

He shook his head, "no, sir. I'm still looking."

"_Aquila and Petrel_."

"Yes, sir!" They cried it out in unison.

"_Be back by sunrise. Medical wing needs you,_" he looked back at Archer. "_Archer, keep your eye out for a base. Goodnight._" The screen went black and they dropped their salute all at once. Petrel cursed.

"Be back by mornin', fuckin' medical wing needs us, fuckin' medical wing is full of _worthless cunts_," he spat. Aquila pat him on the shoulder, laughing.

"Well, it's about that time where people get cycled in," she smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah, well, that's not _our_ job to do, where the fuck are the High-Rank Officers and Spies? They're supposed to teach the fuckin' brats." Archer glared at him.

"Deal with it, Petrel." With that, he disappeared into his temporary bedroom, his irritation visible. Petrel snickered.

"He's just mad, 'cause Giovanni won't let him suck his dick." Proton laughed, louder than he really should have.

"Dude, that's sick."

* * *

They were needed in the medical wing, but not for what they expected. Over the week they had been gone, a massive outbreak of the flu had broken through the base, and Petrel had irritably stormed off to Giovanni to inform him that their overnight trek was worthless because they couldn't do anything to cure the flu, only to be informed with a deadpan to get the ones who were still healthy and inject them with flu shots. They spent the whole day seeing people in and out, shoving needles into their arms and seeing them off. Over the day, Petrel's jokes died down and both of them felt the strain on their bodies to keep going into the night, having been up for over twenty-four hours, only to be rescued by the Executive who told them to go home with a small chuckle, lest they get sick from overworking themselves.

They could only make it to the couch before they collapsed and fell asleep, leaned against one another. Their intentions had been good - smoke a cigarette, eat and sleep - but they quickly gave up their will to fight with sleep. Petrel had laughed right before he fell asleep, saying, "sleep is a harder enemy than those fuckin' bikers." By then, Aquila could hardly understand what he was trying to say.

They woke up at some point to drag themselves off to their beds, where they stayed for the rest of the day. When she woke up, he was gone and she laid on the couch, smoking her morning, or, well, evening, cigarette. She watched the smoke curl up to the ceiling, her eyes dull in thought as she did. He was already gone on their mission for the night, but it didn't really piss her off that he hadn't woken her up, only made her curious to why he hadn't. She smashed the end of the cigarette into the ash tray on the coffee table, sliding into her uniform before she left, locking the door behind her.

She figured out when she saw the notice for their mission on the corkboard in the main room. They had a whole group of grunts under them, a large-scale mission, but not a particularly _hard_ mission, a mission that had probably been long since finished. She smiled, realising her partner had let her sleep instead of wasting her time on the mission he could cover alone easily. She left the flat complex, looking around the city for any change in behaviour among the citizens and, more importantly, the police. Everything was utterly calm, a sign that the mission was still in place, or was finished hours ago. She figured it out when she saw the bar next to Game Corner, very much alive and very much filled from corner to corner with grunts.

"Oi, heeeey, Petrel, hey someone git Petrel, hey, oi, hey," she chuckled at him, shoving through the thick crowd of grunts to find his tall figure holding a brown bottle.

"Hey," Petrel purred, looking down at her. His smile was already loopy.

Mission done hours ago it was.

"Hey," she repeated, sliding money for a vodka shot over the bar to the bartender. "You should have at least woken me up before you decided to get sloshed somewhere."

"Heeeey, it's jus' beginnin', the night is young," he said, but she didn't quite believe him.

"Just beginning?" she grabbed the vodka shot, downing it quickly.

"Yeah, but here," he reached deep in his pocket. "Take some of this, it'll stop ya from havin' all the shitty effects, swear on my left nut," he held out a ball of white powder.

"Are you serious, just, _right here?_" She asked, looking around cautiously.

"We're in a _Rocket_ bar, sweetheart, it'll be _fine_," he pressed the ball into her hand. "Mission went great," he watched her pile some of it on her scalpel curiously, "grunts got me to come'ere and... well _here we are_. Don't it feel great?" She hissed as it cut through her nose, but she could feel the tell-tale signs of its effects immediately.

"Yeaaah," she breathed, putting more money on the bar to get another shot. The music seemed louder, the neon lighting in the bar, owned by a younger, but retired, Team Rocket member in his twenties, looked brighter than ever. He still stayed affiliated with them, however. His excuse was that they spent the most money, to have the most fun. In reality, boring people likely just bored him after his time in the organisation, but he had gotten out of it when he was young to earn legitimate money and start a family. Well, Ariana didn't seem to mind the idea of starting a family while entrenched in Team Rocket. And neither did anyone from the first generation who had produced second generation Rockets like Petrel. He grabbed her shoulder, pulling her in closer to him. She stumbled, looking up at him.

"Wanna watch me do somethin' amazin'?" He asked. His breath smelled of pure alcohol. Aquila could feel her own alcoholic haze taking over.

"Yeah, sure," she murmured and he grinned wide, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to a billiards table.

"Alrightyyy, kiddos. Who wanna get your ass _beat?_" He grabbed a pool stick, twirling it through his fingers. A grunt waltzed up, grabbing a wad of Pokeyen from his belt and putting it on the pool table.

"Bitch, you ain't shit, I seen you plays before," he slurred. Petrel grabbed his own wad of cash, slapping it on the table.

"Ey, don't call me bitch, cunt," he replied as the grunt bent over to grab the billiard balls.

"Yeah, we gonna find out," the grunt swayed to break the set. Aquila threw herself into a bar stool she dragged over.

"Petrel, this li'l cunt thinks you're shit," she giggled, staring at the grunt who rolled his eyes.

"Git your girl to shut up, I'm concen... concentratin'."

"Aquila, keep talkin' shits, it's cute," Petrel purred as the grunt took the first hit on the cue ball. She felt herself blush.

"Petrel, what-"

"Shhh," he hissed. He had totally floundered. The grunt snorted.

"Told you you ain't _shit_, **son.**" The grunt hit the cue ball again, getting a ball into one of the far corner holes. She watched as Petrel watched him sweep up a few balls.

"Hm," Petrel leaned back against Aquila, looking at her over his shoulder. "What you think I should do?" He grinned.

"Win?" She suggested. The grunt cackled.

"Well, no _shit_, Aq," he rolled his eyes, walking forward, rolling the cue stick over his hand in thought. After a few long moments he totally screwed up once again and she arched an eyebrow, staying silent. It was another three grunts, and him whining about 'being unable to hit his stride,' before he floored the fourth grunt by sweeping him. It happened again and again and she watched with wide eyes as he did so. He was doing so _horrible_, only to be so good. "That," he said, waving his stack of Pokeyen in her face, "is how you gets money playin' fuckin' billiards, sweetheart, OI, _bartender_, get me a fuckin' drink," he threw a note onto the bar, exchanging it for a beer. He cracked it open, chugging it for a moment before tossing a vodka shot at her. She swallowed it with ease, her mind unable to take in the fiery feeling it caused in her throat.

"I don't...?"

He cackled, "you fuckin' make 'em thinks that they can _win,_ then you just thrash 'em after you get a crowd of people thinkin', '_ey_, I kins git 'is Pokeyens. They offer more, you _makes_ more, sweetheart, eaaasy stuff." He ran his fingers over her face before he disappeared, off to find some other way of scamming people out of their Pokeyen. She watched him go, mouth open. Petrel was so _weird_ when he drank. She shrugged, hopping off the chair to grab another shot of vodka.

"Oi, _party o'er_, Rocket Brothers came in," a grunt shouted, and everyone turned their heads.

"Heyyy, Raffleticket, _been a while_," Petrel shouted, bounding through the staring crowd. She glanced around.

"Who..?" She looked at the bartender.

"Girly, those guys always end up fightin' each other, 'cause they're all total fuckin' idiots. I'd ban 'em if I could, but then... no one would come. People like watchin' 'em try and kill each other. Funny guys, until they get sloshed."

"Oh," she murmured. She had never seen these elusive Rocket Brothers, four in total, that made a lot of the grunts simultaneously groan and yet smile.

"So when you gonna fight Mozzarella over him callin' you Leotardo?" Someone shouted. The apparent 'Leotardo', a tall, bulky man with blue hair, looked over.

"I'll fight you, cunt!" he shouted, pummelling his fists together. The grunt just cackled at him, disappearing into the crowd of hats.

Mozzarella, an orange haired guy, snickered, "can we at least try 'n' pretend we're not a buncha lunatics who just wanna fight everything?"

"Mozzarella, fuck off, oi, Vivapizzario, let's get alcohol." Leotardo led his red-haired partner through the crowd to grab a bunch of alcohol from the bartender. Vivapizzario looked at her.

"Who the fuck are you?"

She cackled, grabbing the collar of her uniform and standing up. "I'm your fuckin' superior, _grunt_, but I can be you're goddamned nightmare, too," she smiled at them. Petrel shoved his way through the crowd, flanked by the purple-haired Raffleticket.

"What a feisty one, we should take 'er home, what you think, Leo?"

Just as she was about to spit in his face, Petrel grabbed her, laughing with a lighthearted tone as he pushed her behind him. "'Ey, _bitch_."

"Oh, you already picked the feisty 'un?" Leotardo cackled, "fuckin' lucky Petrel, always gettin' the feisty one."

She shoved her way past him, "no, but I'm not your fuckin' bitch to conquer." Petrel grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back before she got too close to him.

"Sweetheart, c'mon-"

"Petrel, I can take 'em, I'll kill 'em both!"

"Not in my fuckin' pub," the bartender shouted. "Leo, Viva, your alcohol's gettin' warm."

Leotardo cackled, suddenly remembering what he had in his arms. "Petrel, better keep yo' feisty one on a leash," he threw the insult over his shoulder and Aquila growled, gritting her teeth.

"Wanna keep your fuckin' nutsack intact you better pen yourself, _bitch!_" She shouted. Petrel laughed, snaking an arm over her ribs and pulling her back.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart, _calm down_, here," he grabbed an offered vodka shot, handing it to her. "Calm the _fuck _down."

"Petrel I swear I'll-"

"They'll kill 'emselves, now chill," he let her go and she sighed, downing the shot of vodka while Petrel paid for it. "Ain't no need to be killin' people in our personal bar, sweetheart."

She glared in their direction, unable to comprehend why people were around them laughing. She snorted another line of cocaine off her scalpel, watching Petrel make his way through the crowd again. There to save the day, then gone to have fun the moment shit was fun again. Just like him to do. Still, it wasn't long that the Rocket Brothers were bickering amongst themselves and she slipped out of the bar, uninterested in their squabbling.

* * *

Petrel always knew where his partner was, even when they were both sloshed and totally unaware of everyone else, _Petrel always knew where Aquila was_. Maybe it was a built-in instinct because his partner was batshit fucking insane and needed someone to keep her from murdering in public, and maybe he felt responsible to keep her ass out of jail, he didn't know, and he especially didn't know when he was sloshed and ready to do something entertaining. Or ready to fuck. Both would be fine.

So when Aquila seemed to disappear from his internal 'range of partner' radar, he quickly pushed through the crowd and met up with her, smiling down at her. He was still loopy, his grin felt crooked on his own face and it made him grin even harder by the odd feeling. He could tell his gait was as crooked as his smile. "Hey," he purred.

"Hey," she repeated, looking at him.

"Ya didn't wanna watch 'em kill each other?" When she shook her head he chuckled, reaching out and shoving her lightly. He watched her stumble and walk back into place, pushing her own curtain of hair away to look at him again. She was so cute intoxicated, like a little broken doll made of scars that had to be restitched. Sure, sometimes she could look all war-hardened, but when she was _drunk_, she looked like a little broken doll with curiosity lighting her eyes even when she threatened to murder men twice her size.

It was really cute.

"I'd jump in, all, tryin'a murder 'em and you'd come outta nowhere like always, hero Petrel to save the day," she laughed, a clear laugh that Petrel liked, if only because it assured him he wasn't trying to get a total sociopath to love him before he jumped on her and spit it out. It made him laugh, too.

"Gotta keep my stitched up li'l partner from demolishin' herself," he shrugged, walking down the street with her. He almost jumped out of his skin when her left hand touched his right hand and she laced her fingers with his, as if she had done it hundreds of times. _As if it was natural_. "Eh?... Eh?"

"Well if you don't like it, then mo-"

What he did next was off-kilter even in his drunken state, but he was so fucking tired of all the little things, all the tiny motions she pulled, everyday. Day in, day out. He would save her life and she would save his life, and they'd smile this _knowing smile_, but she was oblivious. She would touch her lip piercings and roll them with her fingers or teeth when talking to him, and he could tell she wouldn't realise she was doing it. She hadn't even replaced her door, as if inviting him in. He could feel every fibre of her being trying to connect, there was _something there_, but she was oblivious. And it right pissed him off. But it shocked even him when he shoved her against the base, making her wince very slightly, oops, and he moved his face close to hers, looking into her eyes. Searching for something. "Why?"

"Eh?" For all Petrel's searching, Aquila's eyes showed nothing but unadulterated fear and anxiety and he sighed softly, backing up and putting a hand on her cheek. She seemed to move into it. What the _fuck._

"You give me all these stupid little signs, what do you _want?_"

"I..." she looked up at him, but it shocked him when she grabbed him by his uniform and threw him against the wall, looking up at him with a look of malicious intent he had only seen when she was deathly close to murdering someone. He stopped himself from reacting in the way he wanted to when she used his shoulders - he winced at his back - to hoist herself up and use the brick behind him to shove her boots into. She looked into his eyes with the same look, searching for her answers he knew she couldn't find. She was hunched over his torso, using his uniform and the strength in her legs to keep her at an unnatural angle, but then he saw it. It wasn't her own weight keeping her at such a weird position. There was a ring of blue, _bright _blue, that he nearly missed from the blur in his eyes. Where the fuck had she learned that?

"Aq-"

"I don't know, _asshole_," she spat, looking over his face. He winced, tilting his head up to look down at her - the only leverage he had when she was hunched over _him_ for once. He saw her grit her teeth and he frowned.

"Just..."

"Who the fuck is this _girl?_"

What? He looked at her, his expression blank. She was so naive, so jealous, but such a frightening criminal. It was unbelievable, as if Giovanni himself had tailoured her to never learn about relationships, love or, hell, even just basic fucking. He had built a killing machine, and this girl, unbelievably emotionally shallow as she was, was that machine. She knew exactly where to cut for a quick death with a tiny blade on a scalpel, but not how to unravel her own emotions, or how to unravel a simple mystery when he hadn't let his gaze linger on another girl for more than a few seconds at a time. Was she fucking serious? "What?"

"_Who is she, Petrel?_"

Lucky Petrel, always getting the feisty ones. "Figure it out," he said, letting his eyelids droop again. Good, she wasn't actively about to murder him. Still, he couldn't tell if she was pissed off or something else.

"I wouldn't be askin' if-"

"_Think_," he ordered. She went silent, staring with narrow eyes. He saw the mental gymnastics she was going through and sighed out, pulling a cigarette out. It was going to be a minute.

"That fuckin' nurse-" she was met with an audible sigh. So naive.

"Try again."

"I'm not a mind reader Petrel."

He flicked his cigarette, breathing out smoke into the air above them. "This isn't a riddle." She looked at him again, that searching look that gave him chills. It was the _exact _same look when she got time with a kill. Her eyes darted to and fro, from his eyes to his cheeks to his lips as he smoked his cigarette and back up again.

"I don't..."

Goddamn, he had almost kissed her and she _still_ didn't get it. As stupid as Gauntlet got, the slut hadn't been so naive to not understand something right in front of her face. "Then let me show you." He wrenched her off the moment he saw the blue leave her eyes, shoving her against the base again, looking at her.

"Are we-" he silenced her by throwing his cigarette away and grabbing her neck, shoving her head back like he had months ago, but his kiss was gentle, unsure of whether he was breaching a boundary. When she grabbed his uniform and sighed he smiled against her lips, pushing her and, much to his comfort, she followed suit, figuring it out quick enough. Still, Petrel was hungry, needing, finding himself needing more and more and getting more aggressive only to be met with the same aggression from the heated face underneath his. She pushed against him with the same need, arching into his sloped back and pressing herself against him. He tore himself away, breathing heavily.

"Get it?" She nodded, eyes half open as she panted back at him, still pressed against him in a way he didn't expect from her. Still, he pulled away, grabbing her hand and lacing their fingers together. As much as he felt his own need, he knew she was _sloshed_, unable to consent to his advances. As much as he wanted to grab her and run to their flat and fuck her brains out and as much as she looked like she _needed_ him to, he felt himself have to choke back that particular desire. She was too naive.

He couldn't.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's be slow." He chuckled when she grit her teeth, obvious behind her thin face. "Maybe when you're not so drunk you'll forget it."

Still, he lead her up to the flat, forcing her to down a glass of water with him before he let her move from the kitchen. He could tell just from the way she was walking, he'd regret it in the morning. Petrel may have been sloshed himself, but he was still able to keep his emotions from taking over. As much as his desire was to ram her against the wall until she submitted to him, he had to hold himself back.

It didn't mean he didn't drag her to the couch to cuddle up to him to sleep. He stroked her cheek and hair as she fell asleep almost instantly, curled up against his chest. Finally.

Closure.

* * *

**A/N: Naive bitch.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer... _get rekt, non-owner, ecks dee._**

* * *

Aquila groaned, throwing her arm over her face to block out the horrid sunlight that streamed in from the window. It could be more painful, she knew, but she buried her face into the couch, listening to what felt like an ear-splitting chuckle. She groaned again. "Hey, come on, sweetheart," she would have glanced at him curiously, but her head felt like it had been cleaved by an axe, "you gotta eat." She heard him rustle around in the room before she cracked her eye open again to notice the room was pitch black. She sat up, hissing at her head.

Why did she insist on drinking _ever?_ She squinted in the darkness, looking at his figure as he grabbed a glass of water, what looked like a candy bar and a bowl of weed. He set it in front of her, grin wide and knowing. "Eh-" she hid her face in her hair to block out the remainder of light, grabbing the glass of water and tugging it forward. Between it, the weed and the chocolate bar, she could feel the pulsing feeling in her brain dissipate slowly. Drinking was the worst. She looked at him curiously as she nibbled on the chocolate bar. Trying to think back to the previous night, she found a black hole of time. Somehow she had threatened Vivapizzario, or Mozzarella, she couldn't remember them apart, then ended up on their couch, liberated of her gloves, stockings and boots. "What happened?"

Petrel chuckled darkly, "well, you told Leotardo, a guy twice your size you'd rip his nutsack off, then you solved the riddle about _the girl_, kinda." Oh, it was Leotardo. Duh.

"The girl... what?" She looked him over, "but you're not... I don't remember." She was really trying, _really trying_, to piece the night together, but to no avail. It was a black smudge of forgotten memories, like the cardboard he had fitted over the window to black out the sun. If she had figured out, his face would be horribly bloody, she knew. He had informed her numerous times she was a catty bitch when drunk, jealous enough to lash out if she was crossed.

His grin was devilish, and she didn't like it. He perched on the couch, not quite sitting, balanced on his toes. "Do I get to watch you figure it out again, Aquila?" His eyes gleamed and she recoiled, grabbing her pack of cigarettes to smoke one.

"Figure it out..." she repeated, lighting the cigarette.

"Yeah, figure it out. Harder to crack than a Metagross, she's a Rocket but you can't scare her," he grabbed the cigarette from her hand, taking a puff of it before she snatched it back. She stared at him, her mind working like clockwork. "She's innocent in her own way, cute in a surreal way," he added to the list after he blew smoke out. She let the words swirl around in her head.

"And this girl is why you're not dragging sluts from human resources here."

"Aye," he grabbed one of his own cigarettes idly. "Then again, Giovanni might kill me if I tried these days." They laughed.

"It's not Arian-"

"_Fuck_ no, Ariana's preggo these days, I got no interest in children meddlin' 'round in shit. Anyway, she's too old for me. Goddamn, Aquila, _think._" When she didn't respond she watched him roll his eyes and change tactics mentally. "Okay, how 'bout this, you tell me who _you_ like and-"

"But Petrel, I don't really... _like_ people like you or Ariana."

"Aquila, goddamn, think before you talk. I see it all the time, sure you're not a hyper, giddy bitch like Ariana, but think. If you loved someone, you wouldn't be a giddy, loyal dog like Ariana, you'd be _yourself_, one of those muted types, like that one chick on that horrible film who didn't fit in. Remember it?"

She watching him stroke his beard before looking at the muted television. Well, okay, that made sense to her. No, she wouldn't be the Ariana or Sabrina type, and neither was Petrel, as far as she could tell. At least, she never saw him get particularly excited... ever. He was too relaxed for that. She leaned against the arm of the couch, putting her head in her hand in thought. He interrupted her thoughts as she tried to reach back in time to think of every experience she could think of. "Who do you think of when you're pleasuring yourself?" She felt her breath catch and she looked at him with wide eyes. It seemed like a genuine question, his knowing smile disappearing off his face, replaced by a look of curiosity. How the hell was she supposed to answer that? 'Oh, nothing, it just goes from my murders to your face, Petrel, usually, no big deal'? That didn't seem like an answer he was looking for.

"I mean, I just... do it." She whispered, looking up at him to check and see if he bought it. The answer was no.

"Without porn, you just do it and go on with your life," he said in a deadpan manner. She smiled sheepishly.

"Yes."

"You're so full of shit."

He looked so sure of something Aquila couldn't put her finger on. It had to be related to the night before but she _couldn't remember_. "Harder to crack than a Metagross," she said.

"Yes. Just as hard as you tryin' to crack this riddle."

It seemed to click then and she looked at him curiously. She felt her eyes go from slightly narrowed to wide with the feeling. Still, even if she thought she knew, he had given her an advantage - she didn't have to guess who this mystery girl was. She squeezed her eyes shut and let her inhibition free as she whispered, "you." She opened one eye to look up at him and his shit-eating grin.

"I don't love mysel-"

"No, you fucking asshole, you know what-"

"Yeah, I know, _bitch_," he hissed, but his grin was wide and he put his cigarette out, leaning closer. "It's good," he whispered, running a cool finger down her cheek. She hadn't realised she had blushed upon blurting out her answer. "I already knew." He moved his face in, grabbing her neck and crashing their lips together. She felt her red face deepen as the blood rushed to it and to the core of her stomach. The feeling was unreal and he was just aggressive enough, his thumb and index finger pressing her spinal cord, squeezing it. The first moments were awkward - she had to take his lead in what, exactly, to _do_ - but when it clicked, it was good.

Then it was over, him leaning back on his feet, his eyelids lazy and his smile wide as he breathed heavy. She panted, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Y-you knew?"

"Last night," he chuckled. "And, uh," he stroked his beard, "I may have heard you a time... or two." She wasn't sure if she should be angry at his grin or accept it for what it was - it wasn't like exploding in rage would make him forget what he heard.

"Then why..?"

He cackled, "the chase, girly, I wanted you to figure it out!" She stared at him.

"Why?"

"'Cause if I told you everythin', you'd never help yourself." She launched herself at him, hugging him and kissing him again, unable to resist her desire. In that moment she felt secure, safe, in an indescribable way. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the curve of his chest.

It was only lust, she convinced herself when they pulled away and she looked into Petrel's glassy eyes. Everything would work out and they'd take their issues out on one another - they always did - it was only lust. Lust. She felt her head working at a mile a minute, exasperating her dull headache. There was no way it could be more than a moment of lust. They'd take their frustration out on one another, then Petrel would cage pretty little human resources girls into his trap and drag them into his room like a horny dog. It wouldn't be long before things were back to normal.

Sure, it felt good. But that was the nature of lust.

* * *

Still, the weekend passed and she realised she was smiling more every time Petrel would brush a gentle kiss over her forehead to wake her up, or run his fingers over her shoulders while she smoked cannabis to pass the weekend in a green haze like always. As touchy as they had _become_, she convinced herself it was nothing but lust, surprising even herself when she found her uniform skirt or shorts or civilian skirts hiked up as if giving him a reason to grab her thigh and drag her under his body and arch over her, his teeth grit together in hunger.

He was aggressive. And that, that was _sexy_.

They hadn't left their flat the whole weekend after that, ordering pizza when food supplies ran low so they could wrap themselves in one another's very being. Conversations would turn from work, or hacking, or whatever was on their mind, into a lust-filled frenzy to play tonsil-hockey on the couch, where they would wrench one another from each other before instincts would lead them farther than that. Petrel insisted they take it slow, insisting they did for _her_ sake, and despite the fact she had quickly found out what made him shiver and give up on dominating her tongue in his mouth was to shove her lower body against his thigh and push her upper thigh into the bulge in his trousers, he would pull away soon after, straightening his back out as much as he possibly could - she had noticed in her lust-drunk haze that he was faring better now than he had initially after the wreck, much to her relief - with his head thrown back, cheeks red with blood as he panted.

Still, he would peel himself away and pace it off. Every single time. It was _maddening_. It made Aquila see red, and she never wanted Petrel to make her see _red,_ ignoring the multiple times he already had in the past.

And when it came to missions, _oh Mew, Lugia and Ho-oh combined,_ they worked better than ever, as if trading a bit of saliva had made their brains run in sync in a way Aquila didn't think was possible. It was like they were linked instantaneously by a trail of spittle from some time over the weekend. Petrel always had known where she was, like a hidden superpower she couldn't understand and figured she'd never understand. But here they were and she was in a hyper aware mode. Every move he made she seemed to notice as he darted down the street. Of course, usually she knew where he was on missions, she wasn't a total idiot, it's why, she presumed, Giovanni kept them together despite the fact the very obviously fucked up many times. They had a synergy that she knew even Proton and her couldn't match - non-verbal and knowing. But now she could feel her mind in hyper-drive, knowing his every movement almost by the metre.

It was another large-scale mission they had been called to, but not as easy as the previous week had been. Grunts scattered around, taking their outposts on building corners, pulling up sniper rifles and perching there. Petrel and she ran through the streets to look for the car, and she could feel her heart pounding. It was risky. They could all get totally boned in the instant, and the two Elite Officers would be absolutely floored. While the grunts around them, picked from the scouting and assassin ranks, had sniper rifles, Aquila and Petrel were armed with nothing spectacular, only their keen sense of where the other one was and a pair of pistols.

Their mission was to shoot and murder the Prime Minister of the entire country.

Why, Giovanni hadn't quite declared, but Archer had mentioned, when Petrel asked him over Pokegear the night they got the mission, that it may have been due to his conflicting views with Team Rocket. No other political leader in their time had been so adamant on cracking down on Team Rocket, initiating a sweeping law that declared anyone caught in the tell-tale uniform in Saffron would be arrested on sight. It put their entire role in jeopardy, and Giovanni wanted him eradicated before he could sweep such law into their home city and other neighbouring large cities such as Goldenrod. "The organisation has been threatened, and it's time to extinguish the issue," Archer had said with harsh teal eyes. It was completely juxtaposed to what Giovanni made Archer do, to try and get Team Rocket in a solid light with the general public, but the blue-haired Executive had only shrugged and said it would work out, that the public had a general distaste for him and that it would be a bit of work to move them back into a neutral light, but it would happen.

It was now or never. The Prime Minister was publicised like a celebrity, his every movement caught on tape. There would be armoured vehicles. It was time to snipe and bounce, to shake the region up and strike fear into their souls like a rocket missile. Still, she felt bizarre, the situation was surreal. Why had Giovanni selected them, Javelin and Sabrina? Did he trust them that much?

She watched Petrel dart across the street into an alleyway as his voice crackled over the team's earpiece. "Vehicle moving," his voice was unnaturally clear, almost accent-less. It was eerie. "Approximately sixty-five kilometres per hour, from the west. Snipers, ready yourselves. He is moving."

Aquila swallowed back bile, slouching back into the shadows of an alleyway. She watched the outside world through sharp eyes, hearing the shot.

"TARGET HIT, MOVE OUT, MOVE OUT!" a grunt shouted, and the world seemed to spin as she watched people jump across rooftops, sniper rifles in hand. They slouched to evade gunfire from his bodyguards. She felt her body on auto-pilot, feeling the connection with Petrel break as she did and she stopped on a rooftop, on her knees as she felt the sudden lack of feeling. It felt so foreign, despite the initial feeling of their connectivity being so foreign to begin with.

"Petrel?"

"Aq, _move_," he shouted back and she breathed out, doing as he ordered. She saw Sabrina jump off a building at the edge of Saffron City, encased in a blue light. Aquila grimaced, changing her tactic as soon as possible. The bodyguards were taking out their numbers, picking them off one by one. She felt her breath catch before she jumped, rolling down a steel staircase, making it shake violently as a shot whizzed through the air where she had been. She swallowed again. It wasn't a failure, it could never be a failure now, even if they all didn't make it out alive, but she could hear Javelin directing people over the earpiece, his voice a savage growl of commands. She ran down the stairs, darting towards the forest. It didn't matter where.

The thick trees gave her shelter from the bodyguards who had moved their vehicles to find stray Rockets. She watched them pass in a tree, eyes wide to look for her partner. "Petrel?" She whispered. The reaction chilled her to the bone.

"Oh, is that your buddy's name?" She felt her face go pale as Petrel cursed loudly and the sound of a body hitting metal with a mechanical thud reached her ears.

"Aq, I'm fine, _run!_" he roared. She heard him spit and she felt her vision go blurry. She grabbed her ear piece, crushing it under the weight of her hand to make his horrific scream disappear as she leaned on it before slipping off the tree, looking into the city with blurry vision. She could feel her mouth fill with iron but she backed up, knowing Petrel would want her to be safe and not caught like him. She swallowed a mouthful of blood, stepping back until she was sheltered by the thick overcoat of trees. The moment her face was hidden she turned and ran, letting her feet take her where they would.

She only saw the world again when she was standing in front of Giovanni, leaned over his desk in desperation, speaking in unintelligible babbles even to her. Giovanni stared at her until she stopped, realising the stream of words coming out of her mouth weren't words at all. "I'm fully aware of the situation, Aquila."

"Then _do something!_" she roared, searching his face for any sign of emotion. He didn't fulfil her need.

"Petrel is our best medical Elite Officer." She bit her lip.

"But," Ariana interjected for him, "we have to wait for signs of him being incarcerated before we can get him released. That's going to take about a day. So why don't you go get some sleep and when you wake up, you'll have your lover boy all to you-"

"We're not lovers," Aquila barked.

"...to yourself, again," Ariana finished irritably, her arms folded over her pregnant stomach.

"There's nothing we can do, currently," Giovanni said, his eyes narrow. She slouched, stepping back from his desk, her eyes dark.

"And if they won't _let_ him out?" She asked.

"Then we'll put you in charge of breaking him out, if that'll make you happy," Giovanni waved his hand impatiently and she swallowed, looking between them before turning to walk out. "But if it comes to that, leave it to scouting."

She didn't reply, walking out with a feeling of dejection. Her heart was pounding in anxiety and she pulled her cigarettes out immediately, chain-smoking one after the other. She felt so lost, only able to imagine the pain her partner was going through. Sure, the police couldn't kill him, that was against the law, but she knew they were roughing him up. She could _feel_ it, deep at the bottom of her chest. It lingered as she entered their flat and she shook in her boots, feeling unwanted tears well up immediately. It was a foreign emotion, a deep sadness that she couldn't shake off her mind. And worse, she couldn't understand why it even existed.

Aquila threw herself on Petrel's bed, hugging his pillows to her as she sobbed, taking in his musky, stale scent. The beast within her chest rumbled to life and she felt her eyebrows knit, her body shaking violently. It wasn't long before she dragged herself off his bed, grabbed one of his lazily discarded hoodies and pulled the hood over her head to conceal her face. She dragged herself to the bathroom, dragging his make-up out to smear her face into oblivion. She grabbed a wig, shoving her hair into it before she changed into a new set of clothing.

She stared out at Celadon with her head rolled back on her neck, eyes dull and a scalpel in her fingers until her knuckles were white. The night was coming quickly, and she could see little groupings of pedestrians on the street. If she had been in any other state of mind, she would have smiled, but instead, she just looked at them with a glower. She could feel her chest erupt with anger and desire.

Fuck her pact with Proton.

She opened the door, leaving their flat after locking it carefully, making her way down to the outside world. She took in the thick air around her, her eyes narrowed from the feeling inside her chest. Aquila slunk through the city, her scalpel barely concealed by Petrel's oversized hoodie she wore before she found her target, a sleazy man in an alleyway in the poor part of town. Perfect. He looked at her with a dark grin as she walked down the alleyway as if she didn't notice him. The moment he reached out and grabbed her, she felt her face crack into a smile, broken and dark.

"Look what we got here," he hissed, pulling her violently. She slid the casing to her scalpel off, hearing it clatter on the ground. She looked up at him, peering through deadened eyes at him.

"Look indeed," she whispered. The man didn't seem to notice and she let him throw her against the wall like a ragdoll, her eyes never changing lustre. It didn't seem to disturb him. He pressed his body against her and she sighed in irritation.

"What? Gonna resist, bitch?" He hissed. His breath smelled stale and dirty and she looked at him.

"You're not aggressive enough," she whispered, maneuvering the scalpel in her hands without him noticing. "Too bad. I thought I'd let you fuck me, but you're too weak." He made a face of confusion before she lifted her arm swiftly, putting the scalpel to his neck. He instantly loosened his grip and she walked him back to the other side of the alley, looking into his eyes after every crunch of glass under their feet. She pulled her pistol out with her left hand, pulling the hammer back. "You resist, I shoot. You be a good boy, and maybe I'll just carve you up some and let you go."

"What the _fuck?_" His voice was hysterical and Aquila chuckled darkly, nicking his neck as she lifted the pistol, shoving his head against the brick with the barrel digging into his temple.

"I said, you be a good boy, and I might let you g-" she jumped, avoiding his foot that tried to sweep at her ankles. "No, no," she cut into his neck violently, "that's not good, now is it?"

"Bitch," he moved against the pistol, his eyes moving to look at her, "I will fuckin' scream."

"And then what? You're a serial rapist and I'm a serial killer. You scream, you die," she hissed, pressing against him. He grimaced. "I fucking dare you." But he never said another word and she nicked his neck, over and over, until he finally screamed in agony. The sound made her chest pound, the adrenaline rush satiating the feeling in her chest. She pulled the trigger, watching the flash of light before he crumpled to the ground. She stood over him, watching the dark puddle pool around his face for a moment before she realised it wasn't enough.

For the first time, it _wasn't anything._ It wasn't that it wasn't enough - there had been many times where she wasn't satisfied until she mulled it over in her bedroom later - it was that not a single thing changed. Aquila could still hear Petrel's scream of agony, his order for her to run and the man who had answered her plea for him to reply. And while the rational half of her brain told her she was being foolish for caring so much, _Elite Officers don't have to room together, Elite Officers don't have to **work**_ _together, _there was a part of her drenched in confusion, drenched in emotions she couldn't understand why she had.

She fled the scene to find another kill. And another. And more. It was late at night before she stood over a female's corpse that she growled in fury, shoving her boot into the skull to crush it. Nothing worked. From person to person, male, female, child, _none _satiated her confusion and anxiety. Her hands were covered in blood, but nothing worked. She still shook where she stood, violent spasms from her head to her knees as she looked over the crushed face. She left the scene with the same dejected feeling, and, when she entered the base, she grabbed her own hair with bloody hands, entangling her hands into it and pulling as her mouth filled with blood.

Aquila didn't even _feel _like pleasuring herself - and it was usually her rhythm, kill, come back, masturbation, sleep or eat or watch shitty late night television with Petrel or whatever. The empty flat, with all its space and diminishing weed smoke-smell only made her angrier, and no note had been left by anyone that anything was being done with Petrel. She felt her anxiety flaring up worse as she looked through her bloody fingers and hair into the living room. The air of _Petrel_ was thick, but he was nowhere to be found, and for every protest her mind threw at her that it was nothing, another part of her would whine back that it something just wasn't right. She stood at the entranceway into the living room for what felt like an hour before she darted across it to her room, shoving the broken door into its space before she breathed, panting as she stared at it. The back of it had been splintered, something she had never known before, from her impact with it when she broke it down.

At least her room felt like hers. The thick smog of Petrel and his Koffing and Weezing crew that usually lingered couldn't permeate into her cold, lifeless living space. She sunk to her knees, curling her body up with her spine towards the ceiling, never removing her hands from her hair. The wig slid off her head with ease and she felt her body shake into sobs once more. She couldn't trust Giovanni to save her partner, not after they _murdered the Prime Minister_. She couldn't trust that Ariana or he gave a shit about Petrel enough to rescue him from a life-long prison sentence. She couldn't trust herself not to break into the prison and fix the issue herself. And she sure as hell couldn't trust herself to even understand why she would even do it, when one tiny word was all it took to get her Boss to reassign her with another partner in crime. Her mind was a haze of confusion and anxiety. She stared at the crack in the bottom of the door, into the faint light from the kitchen.

All she wanted was some Chinese food and and a shitty romantic comedy playing while Petrel dragged her over on the couch and cuddled her to pieces and she couldn't figure out why. But it couldn't happen, not now. The situation looked dire. She felt tears roll over her face, smudging her appearance with the make-up she wore as she stared, waiting for his return.

It never happened.

Aquila wasn't aware when her body sobbed itself to sleep, but she felt her entire body convulse in pain when she sat up. Her back hurt, her neck was on fire and her eyes were sore and puffy and she could feel rage from deep down in her body. Still, she dragged herself up, letting her Pokemon out without a word to feed them. The flat was still eerily cold and silent, apart from her Pokemon chowing down food from their hours-long starvation. She watched them with dull eyes. How were his Koffing and Weezing faring, she wondered. There was a part of her that wished he kept his Pokemon home yesterday. She missed their lazy, bumbling company, too.

It was midday and two weeks later that there was a swift knock and, before she could manage to even think about getting up, Proton burst in, his eyes filled with concern. "Aq!" He looked at her, his eyes searching. She groaned, looking at him from amidst a cluttered mess on the kitchen table. He frowned. "Goddamn... ya look like shit, Aq," he whispered. She grabbed the edge of the table, pushing herself upright. "I saw the news and... well it's obvious but..."

"What?"

"A buncha murders 'n' shit last night. Where's Petrel?"

She groaned, looking at the mess on the table. There were dozens of bottles of vodka spread around, amidst newspapers she had scrounged up, unable to bear being in the living room for longer than it took to run across it. Every one of her murders were hidden behind the cover story of the Prime Minister's death, but there wasn't a single picture of the culprits across all the newspapers she could find in the entire city, nor a single list of names. The newspapers were covered in liquid, but she wasn't sure if it was tears or vodka herself. She looked back up at Proton. "Not here."

"Yeah, I can see that, he's still not here..?"

"No," she hissed, standing up only to stumble straight into the wall with a loud groan. She crumpled to the floor.

"Aq..." Proton grabbed her arm, hoisting her up. "What the fuck, Aq." It wasn't a question, and she wouldn't have been able to answer it even if it had been. She stared at him with bleary eyes. She was just glad she could hold her alcohol down, even if it totally fucked her up.

"He's jus'... gone," she bleated, staring into the living room. Proton frowned, moving her back to the chair, which she fell into, her upper body swaying slowly.

"Archer said Boss can get 'im out, jus' relax," he replied nervously, looking around the kitchen before grabbing a glass and filling it with water. "Here." Aquila blinked, looking at the cup of water before grabbing it in clammy, shaking hands. "What's got ya so tore up 'bout it though?"

She glowered at him, "'cause I love his fuckin'... _I love that fuckin' idiot_," she spat, looking away while she drank her water. She didn't want to look at his reaction. She was too angry. And anyway, she wasn't in a frame of mind where she could even trust her own words and she hoped he didn't either. She drank some of the water, grimacing at how cold it was.

"I knew that, but Aq, Archer's on his way ta get him out, swear on it."

She stared at him suddenly. "Really?"

"Really. Get yourself together, Aq, Archer does this shit all the time, he told me."

She frowned, running a shaking finger around the rim of her glass. Could she trust Archer? She wasn't sure. She couldn't remember if she could or not. But if he was trying, it was good enough for her. She slouched in her chair, bringing the cup up to drink more. If Petrel bounded through the door, she wasn't sure what she would do. She glanced at it, expecting the two to return only to be met with silence as Proton grabbed the glass from her hands to refill it. When he returned, she grabbed him around his back as he stood in front of her expectantly, crushing him against her in a hug. "Thanks for comin' and givin' a shit." The young teen was cold, unsure of how to react as he patted her on the back awkwardly.

* * *

The truth was, if it hadn't been for Proton, Archer wouldn't be in Kanto at that very moment to complete his chat from the previous week with Giovanni on the state of affairs in Team Rocket. Morale was down, and not only for Aquila. Petrel was really good at keeping up morale, and with him gone, and Aquila's sour attitude and sudden state of permanent drunkenness that had arisen over the two weeks, the entire crew of people under them, from High-Ranking Officers to Dogsbodies, had fallen into a similar state of sourness. And, of course, Giovanni had called upon him to get Petrel out of prison, a task that was a lot harder than little Proton was convinced it would be.

"There's always someone to bail her out," Ariana spat suddenly, throwing her hands in the air. "I'm out. I can't fucking stand her."

"Ariana, she trained Proton, there's some connection there," Archer sputtered out.

"No, it's because they went through similar situations and they're both goddamn sociopaths," Giovanni interjected. "Ariana, go catch your breath." She didn't hesitate, walking out with an irritated huff.

The truth was, Archer had initially shot down Giovanni's offer, and it genuinely had been an offer, but then Proton had caught wind of it and had chewed him out with childish arguments until the teal-haired man had finally snapped, slapping the greenette across the face to get him to shut up and let him ask what the real reason he cared was. Proton had proceeded to skirt around the issue before, with enough pressing, he had admitted it was "'cause Aquila never shuts up 'bout him." That wasn't really enough for the older male, but the greenette's upset face over the rest of the week, and his occasional, sudden disappearance paired with the newscasts in Goldenrod, was enough to make him sigh out that he would at least try, if only so that he would stop fucking sulking.

It probably wouldn't work. No, Archer knew it wouldn't work.

"Boss, if I don't do something, Proton will fall apart over there in Johto, and he's crucial to taking over Johto. When his morale gets crushed because he's worried about Aquila being unable to handle herself alone, our plans in Johto will fall apart."

"I'm aware of this, Archer."

"I'll try, Sir, but I don't think they'll be too pleased," Archer sighed heavily, looking at the floor as he shoved a hand through his hair.

"Work a solution out," Giovanni said darkly. "It's only a matter of time before she takes matters into her own hands, Archer. And with how she's been on missions, she'll fail."

"Yes, sir."

"The important thing isn't her, she has a ready replacement in Proton." Archer's head snapped up to stare at his Boss. "The important thing is that Petrel is by far the best medic we have currently. Without him, medical's morale drops. Figure it out."

He nodded, swallowing his nerves away. "Yes, sir. I'll go as soon as I've planned out my course of action." He saluted, "Boss, how did the mission play out?"

"Petrel didn't have a sniper rifle. And you have no time, he goes to court today, I've been told." Archer swallowed again, dropping his salute to leave as Ariana wandered back in.

Time slowed down for the teal-haired man as he donned his suit, wig and contacts and stared at himself in a mirror before he made his way to the Saffron City prison. He flashed his fake identification, stepping into a hearing room where Petrel sat, smoking a cigarette while staying quiet. His thin fingers tapped the cardboard as investigators hovered over him, screaming obscenities. Archer sighed. "Okay, boys, time to move, get out." The investigators glared at him before they slunk out of the room and he could hear their quiet curses they flung at him when they departed. He sat down across from Petrel. There was no need to disarm a camera from their private chat - there was no camera in the dank, window-less interrogation room. He looked over his comrade.

He looked fucking horrible.

His right eye was sealed shut, purple and black lacing together from where he had obviously attacked one of the bodyguards. Two tiny dots of black was on his neck and Archer grimaced, realising that was precisely where a taser had hit him. _Ouch_. There was also a perfect rectangle on his cheekbone, a place where he could only imagine Petrel had been pistol-whipped. Goddamn. It didn't help that the man had obviously been sleep-deprived and starved to wear him down and get him to talk. "How are you doing, Petrel?" When Petrel opened his mouth, he winced at the very sight of where he had bitten off a chunk of the right side of his tongue.

"Doin' pretty shitty," he replied bitterly, rolling his only good eye, despite the heavy bag under and the dark circle of exhaustion around it, in Archer's direction. He shoved his grey sleeves up, revealing dark bruises that snaked up both his thin arms. "Almost didn't recognise you." The disguised man chose to ignore this - that had been the plan, after all.

"I can tell. How did the mission go? _What can I use?_"

"What? You're my lawyer now?" Petrel chuckled, pulling his cigarette up.

"Yes. There's no other choice, I either go to court with you or you get put in a maximum protection prison, Petrel. Enough with the bullshit. Give me something to get you out of here."

He bared his teeth, smoke curling from between them, "how is Aquila?"

Archer laughed, "in as shitty conditions as you look, if the news is anything to go by. Proton's with her. She'll be fine. Go on."

"There's nothin' to fuckin' prove I was who shot," Petrel offered up. "And the kind of sentence those bastards," he waved his cigarette in the direction of the door, "are bitchin' about are for a murderer, a traitor of Kanto, not a red R, an illegal gun and being caught in some grunt's joke." Well, he was blunt, but he was _right_. Archer sighed in relief. "But."

"But..?"

"But I had an earpiece, the same as the fuckin' grunts who got caught." _Shit_. "They've got me, Archer."

"What? Your saving-face morale has turned to shit, too?" Archer growled. One purple eye looked back at him. "So they have a bit of recorded audio on an earpiece against you. Did you tell those assholes anything?" The prisoner laughed, a painful, broken laugh.

"Yeah, I told them all about my secrets, down to my fetishes."

He couldn't help it, he rolled his eyes in irritation. "So they have a tiny bit of recorded audio, they know your codename, your fetishes, a pistol you had on you, your Pokemon, they know you're part of Team Rocket because you had the uniform. That's it?"

"Yes." Of course, they both knew the 'fetish' part was a joke, but their taste of it was already gone. The air was thick with stress.

"And we have the fact you didn't have the murder weapon on you, that you might not have been part of the crew who decided to murder the Prime Minister and," it clicked and he smiled a smile similar to his Houndoom's when it had a weak Pokemon in its sights, "a nice case of police brutality all over your face." Petrel's eye glittered.

"Yes."

Archer and him grabbed each other's hands, squeezing them with gritted teeth but twisted smiles as they stared one another down. No more words were exchanged. The older male knew exactly how to work this out, now. Twist it and convolute it into the prison system's issue, and maybe, just maybe, this would work.

* * *

Archer looked straight ahead of where he stood with an expressionless face and sharp eyes, but his mind was reeling. He wanted to strangle Petrel - and he could, no one would care - but that was his whole _stance_. While they piled faux evidence against him that made the purple-haired man stir in his seat, Archer's only defence was that they had _brutally attacked _him, despite his will to go with him. The compliance in his voice was obvious, crackling out over the audio recording as Petrel shouted for Aquila to run, that he was fine.

And then they whirled on him, and Archer had to keep his head from spinning.

"And you," the officer said, looking him in the eyes, "we want proof you're not one of his little Team Rocket buddies, kiddo." When he kept his face blank, the cop moved in, squinting in anger at him. "Well?"

"And what does this have to do with Imaizumi's case?" Archer hissed out, but he was already shoving his sleeves up, holding his arms up when he was finished. There wasn't a single prick of ink on his arms. "Can we move on from me, back to my client?" He spat out as he rolled his sleeves back down. He could almost smell Petrel's hidden fear and he held back a smirk.

"Hm," the cop moved on, bantering the last of his case to the judge before letting Archer speak finally.

"It's come to my attention that my client, Imaizumi Hibiki, wasn't carrying the murder weapon when he was arrested, nor were police able to find any discarded sniper rifles around the scene that didn't match up to Team Rocket members who were taken down reactively," he stared the judge in the eyes, unable to catch a glimpse if he was buying it or not. "Imaizumi understands that having an contraband weapon on his person, along with simply wearing the uniform in Saffron City, are both illegal and he will get jail time. He pleads innocence to the murder of our Prime Minister, and absolves himself from all actions that his fellow gang members abhorrently did that day. He also," Archer grabbed him by the arm, shoving him forward towards the judge, "would like to make awareness to the police brutality done upon his person that day."

_Oh god,_ it wasn't working.

It was known to Archer and Giovanni that once a man was handcuffed in Kanto, they were guilty before charged. The legal system in their country wasn't a kind one, and Petrel had landed himself on the domineering mistress side of the law, but _goddamn_, his partner was totally fucked. Despite the bruises that seemed even darker under the fluorescent lighting of the courtroom, the judge's unwavering smile showed nothing but not giving a _shit_. Not about Petrel's bruises or the case. In his eyes, this was done before court was in session, and he was wasting time before his lunch break: Hibiki, Petrel, was as guilty as the grunt who had actually shot the Prime Minister, and nothing they could say would work.

It was a horrid feeling when Petrel walked off, still in cuffs, looking back at him with bared teeth and a glint in his eyes that Archer knew meant pain would come to him the moment he got out of jail, if it ever happened. He walked away the moment his partner disappeared, a sinking feeling of dread hitting the pit of his stomach while he drove through Saffron City when he realised he would have to tell Giovanni he failed and, by extension, Aquila, who had already murdered a good portion of Celadon City's pedestrian population. He really didn't want to be the one to break the news to the neurotic female.

He washed his arms the moment he could, removing the make-up that covered the ink on his arm, sighing in relief when it was gone. He really hated wearing the shit, but when the time came down to it, he kept a bottle of ink-concealing make-up on him for a reason. Petrel wasn't the only one who could disguise themselves, and there was nothing that could cut a business deal apart faster than blatant tattoos on his body. He changed into his uniform before finding his way back to Giovanni's office, standing at salute while he admitted his failures with a hardened face.

* * *

**A/N: Christ, this took two nights to write up. On the other hand, JAPANESE PRISON. DO NOT WANT. EVER. Seriously, I wrote this based on actual research I did on the Japanese interrogation system, and it is _horrifying_. Do not want.  
**


	14. Chapter 14

**Pick your disclaimer.**

* * *

_One._ Thud. She felt her eyes flutter. Where the fuck was she? She squinted, releasing her grip around a cold, clammy glass bottle. Oh, she was home. What time was it? Dark. Dark time. _Pulse, pulse, pulse._

_Two_. Thud. She peeled her face off the table, sitting back. _Pop, pop, pop, pop_, her spine whined as she straightened it out.

_Three. _Thud. She stared at the door before unfolding herself. _Crinkle, crinkle_, papers falling to the floor.

She recoiled at the bright hall light as whoever was at the door, rhythmic in their knocking as they were, opened the door. She felt herself hiss in agony, missing his apology. The door clicked into place and she looked up again, feeling her head pound like a loud stereo system with a lot of bass. This man was too short to be Petrel, too straight in his back. As soon as she moved, she fell back, sending her chair and herself toppling into the wall with a loud bang. Proton ran into the room, only to stop short when he flicked the light on. His hand was around his hunting knife with white knuckles. She growled at the light, covering her eyes.

"Aquila," Archer said suddenly. When she saw the light go away she dropped her arm, looking at his silhouette in the darkness.

"Eh?" She mumbled, entangled with her chair, her upper back hunched against the wall.

"Get your shit together, we need to chat."

"Where's Petrel?"

"Not fucking here," he spat as Proton helped her up. Aquila could only whine as her muscles screamed at her to sit again. Everything hurt. Everything was so dark and fuzzy. Everything was agony. What was even going on?

"Where's Petrel?" She whined again, to be met with an irritated growl. "Pro said you's were gettin' Petrel."

"Proton, _please _tell me you have a way to instantly sober her up," Archer growled out, his arms crossed. Proton frowned before rummaging through the cabinets. She whined at him, telling him to stop, but with only the power of tripping over chairs at her disposal, she felt helpless to actually stop him. She fell into a chair when Proton ordered her to. He slammed a large glass in front of her, putting a couple of pills in her hand and tossing a box of cookies down.

"Here, these pills will make ya feel even better," Proton insisted, and she looked at him, her eyes squinted. He had lied to her before, _Petrel wasn't here_, but only the once, and never about fun things like drugs. She nodded, swallowing them before drinking the water. He ripped the box of cookies open for her and she nibbled them, staring at the scattered newspapers.

Archer had the patience of a Houndoom.

When she finally was clear enough to think and remember he was there she glanced up, looking at his unmoved silhouette once more. "Where's Petrel?" She asked again.

"He's not fucking here. Are you sober?" She nodded, swallowing as a shaky hand grabbed another cookie. She nibbled at it before setting it it aside. Her appetite was gone. "Good." The Executive sat opposite of her, staring her down with steely eyes. Proton looked between them nervously. "Proton, be on your guard." The boy nodded.

"So..." she whispered.

"Turn on the light for us," Archer said quietly. The greenette nodded, and he waited for him to turn it on before he continued. "Here's the deal, Aquila. Petrel's been sentenced with murder and treason against the government," she looked at him, eyes wide and teeth bared. "I went as his lawyer, but the judge wasn't having it. The good news is that he's in a better place than he's been these past two weeks. The bad news is that he'll never get out of there, unless w-" she stood, throwing her seat back and Proton grabbed her, holding her back as she growled savagely.

"I'll fucking get him," she hissed, eyes wide with madness. The High-Ranked Officer's eyes filled with fear, but the Executive only stood up.

"And get thrown in with him? Tch, tch, I thought you were smarter than this." She recoiled from his insult, eyes softening. "Now, Aquila, you can either let a team from scouting do this for you, or you can go and get your ass thrown into prison, too, for helping a traitor."

"I-"

"_You_ are not in the position to do this."

"I was a scout when-"

"We moved you for a reason!" Archer roared. "You're a shit scout! You're only good at _cutting people open, _you fucking daft bitch!" She winced, stepping back against the wall.

She felt her head swim, unable to choose whether she could believe him or not. His words cut her to the bone and she held her breath until she couldn't any longer, feeling the world crash around her. "So... What...? Archer, he's my _partner_, I..." His lips curled upwards.

"You're an Elite Officer now, Aquila. You don't need him. Don't even finish that statement. Let scouting handle this." She felt the edges of her field of vision turn black. "And maybe, if you sit back, Boss won't lose all faith in you. Maybe, if you sit back, Petrel will come back one day and Boss won't start administering real punishment to you. You've gotten lucky. Petrel's saved your ass too many times for us to count and Proton is the reason I tried to get him out legally today at all. But one by one, your little heroes will get picked off, and," he lowered his voice to a vicious hiss, moving in and glaring down at her, "I wouldn't be shocked if you didn't pick them off yourself, you pathetic, self-destructive _cunt_." With that, he turned, swiping out and sending glass bottles flying to shatter against the opposite wall before he left, leaving her shaking against the wall as the door slammed.

Proton stared at the door, eyes wide, and time felt like it had stuttered to a halt and Aquila felt her breathing coming ragged and broken. The sound of shattered glass echoed in her ears behind Archer's words that repeated in a never-ending loop. It only broke when Proton whispered, "Aq... you're not gonna... try, are ya?" She swallowed. She didn't know. She couldn't know. Petrel was sitting in a cell somewhere and if she did something... she feared his words. Was Giovanni really so hostile towards her?

"No," she breathed, looking at him. "No... I won't." She sat down, putting her head in her hands. "I'll let scouting handle it."

"Good," he whispered, but he stiffened with shock when she grit her teeth and threw her scalpel into the wall and screamed in anger.

* * *

It was a rough seven months. Ariana had already had her child, a boy with deep red hair like hers but Madame Boss's silver eyes. His name was Silver, and it put Ariana completely out of the picture of Team Rocket, for, as far as Aquila was aware, the next few years at least. The seven months dragged on, especially when Proton left to go back to Johto after a one month stay and he was assured that the rust-haired girl wasn't going to murder the population of Celadon, or, worse, try to break Petrel out. But the worst part about it was, was Aquila could feel a hole in her chest that she could only make up for by drinking after missions. She'd find herself wandering to Proton's old flat, only for some Spy she didn't know to answer the door in an angry manner every time, or to Gargoyle's flat, where she would spend his money on pizza and crash among humming servers he set up in his guest bedroom.

Maybe the worst part was that Giovanni put her on pathetically easy missions at first, only to stop bothering after a while. She had more time to become a complacent machine than ever, but no one to spend the time with and, with a restored pact between her and Proton, nothing to do. It was maddening. She felt like she was on house arrest, even if she could walk out in town and score a wallet or Pokeball here and there. It wasn't murder, and her mind knew it.

She was restricted to writing reports for Javelin, much to her hatred. She hated typing his reports up for him, she hated being stuck in her flat, alone and forgotten, and she hated the fact that without her partner, her Boss made it more than clear she was too worthless to work alone. _Elite Officers can work alone, if they choose to do so_, her ass. The medical wing was even worse, and she did the same thing, write reports, there. She felt like a total outcast.

And despite her mind being reduced to an alcoholic blackout ninety percent of the time she was awake, nothing satiated the angry beast within her chest and she grew skinnier by the week. Her Pokemon had become more and more concerned with her health as she fell apart, her eyes dull and Petrel's hoodies falling off her thin frame even if she tried to wear them, despite the fact, like everything else in the flat, his scent was long gone, replaced with the dull smell of fires she set whenever she felt particularly murderous. It wasn't the same, either, but it was some form of destruction.

And Archer's words swam around in her mind to the point where, even when she would look to the door of their flat for the hundredth time that day in expectation, she could hear his words echo into her mind: _I wouldn't be shocked if you didn't pick them off yourself, you pathetic, self-destructive **cunt**_. It would make her dart from the kitchen, from the living room, to trap herself in her room again as her breathing would rush and her frame would become shaky. The whole flat was a reminder that she was an utter failure, unable to save Petrel, unable to help Proton any longer, unable to be anything to Team Rocket but a space-waster and a reporter. It was a painful reminder.

Archer had chased her out of her own kitchen, except the twice a day she would feed her Pokemon while hyperventilating.

There was a couple days out of every week she would wake up on her floor and force herself to scream in agony, to catch the attention of any live body, her body shutting down from dehydration, and Thermite, Tephrite, Silencer or Stalker would come to her aid, dragging her off to get water in the bathroom. Never the kitchen. Her Pokemon knew better, as distant as they had become from her violent outbursts.

She was convinced, however, that it wasn't Petrel anymore - the lust was far gone - but the fact Giovanni didn't trust her to work any longer, the fact that Archer's words wouldn't stop, the fact she couldn't murder people, the fact she had no company for long stretches of time, perhaps. She kept her mind off her previous partner, but as much as she begged Giovanni for a new partner, he would shrug and say there was no replacement, that all the plausible replacements were in Johto, taking the region by storm. She would gawk at him before grabbing her hair and leaving again. He refused to help her and she wondered where she went wrong, the thoughts plagued her everyday she would drag herself from bed or her floor to bother trying.

The world of her assassin standing and missions was gone.

Birthdays passed by, Aquila's, Petrel's and Proton's, without her getting a single word of contact, and it shattered her more when she realised Proton had forgotten her for the missions, the people and the events in Johto. Still, she had gotten a warm cuddling from her Pokemon for the first time in months when her birthday came, and it calmed her a little from her hysterics when she felt ever more alone and forgotten in the large organisation.

But then she had cracked and realised she had made a promise to Proton not to kill, but she never promised not to _hurt_. And that was the day when she dislodged her scalpel from the kitchen wall, where it had remained for months, and went into the bathroom, staring at her gaunt reflection in a white Team Rocket uniform, a relic of past days, before she grabbed the scalpel and lifted it, cutting her collarbones in one clean slice with a hiss. Her vision went fuzzy as the uniform slowly turned red and she fell to her knees, the scalpel clattering into the sink as she lost her grip on it. She sat on her shins, staring at the side of the counter as the pain finally satiated the roaring need to do something in her chest.

"You pathetic, self-destructive cunt," she breathed before she felt herself sway and fall over, her head hitting the tile as her vision went black.

From then, every time the feeling in her chest would come back, she would find a new place to cut into, a nick for everyday she continued to get no contact, no word from Giovanni about missions or anything that would at least tell her she still belonged in the organisation and not in Petrel's place. But it eventually did nothing as well, even when she would hack at her skin in the mirror to make the feeling in her chest go away, even when the bathroom was, after the month from her birthday, covered in bloodstains, even when she finally smashed the mirror to get away from the fact she was a scarred shell, a discarded machine that had served its apparent purpose.

It was only when she tried to leave base the day she realised her own self-destruction was no longer working that she finally saw her Boss again, after five months of nonchalant silence. She was breathing heavily, her face contorted in rage and her scalpel gripped by her right hand so hard the cuts from the broken mirror reopened, leaving little droplets of blood in her path. Her vision was red and blurry, but he dragged her away with ease, threatening to break her arm if she even _dared_, before disarming her completely. She let him drag her away from the entrance of the complex, her eyes dull and mouth pressed into a hard line as blood threatened to pour out of it.

He threw her into a chair with enough force to make it nearly fall over before he grabbed the arms of it, leaning over her. "Where are you going?"

She swallowed, looking straight forward into his chest, refusing to answer him.

"I asked where the _fuck_ you were **going!**" he roared, lifting her by her uniform. When she didn't answer again, he shook her, making her breathe in sharply as blood and saliva poured over her chin.

"Going to murder people," she finally answered. Her voice crackled when it was restored to life.

"We've told you, time and time again, we're _working-_"

"No, you're not," she whispered, narrowing her eyes. "Petrel's still there, I haven't gotten a mission in _five months_, Proton hasn't talked to me in half a year, and you expect me to believe you." She cackled, raising an eyebrow. "I no longer get attention until I make a move to do what _you fucking programmed me to do_ and you think I believe y-"

She felt the wind leave her body as her back hit a wall with all of his force. She looked down at him, seeing every fibre of stress and anger in his eyes. He was beyond words and she squeezed her eyes shut, baring her teeth as she felt him shift suddenly to throw her, sending her sprawling into another wall. She slid down it, coughing harshly. "We would have got more money out of you if we sold you." She looked at him, eyes wide as she covered her mouth while she coughed. What had she even done? She didn't remember failing so hard, but without her "heroes", as Archer had said...

Her eyebrows fell as she felt her eyes go dull with realisation. She stood up, her back hunched over as she used a hand on her thigh to give herself something to lean on. "And if I get Petrel out of prison, then what?"

"Nothing changes. You will fail, and Team Rocket will move on like we have for half a year now, Odette." She cringed.

"We'll see," she whispered, turning to leave him. "And I'll make Team Rocket more money than all the fucking cunts you've sold on the black market. _We'll see._" She left him without another word, going straight to her flat to mull over her options and to devise a plan. It clicked into her head after three days and she quickly gathered up the supplies she would need, along with rallying Gargoyle and Tomahawk to follow her plan.

* * *

It was evening when they made their move, and despite Gargoyle's nerves, he knew if he failed her now, she wasn't exactly in the state where she wouldn't kill him. _Mew_, how had he gotten himself in this position? He kept his hands by his sides so he didn't chew his nails in front of the prison guards, gaining entrance as a government inspector. Why him? He smiled at the guard who raised his eyebrow. Shit, was that the wrong move? He moved into the prison, lifting his left arm to bring a clipboard of official documents up and began from the top, wanting to seem genuine enough.

Still, he kept his eye out for the purple-haired man as best as he could, wandering through the prison while checking things off one at a time. This sucked. He was sure he was even fucking it up, but over five walkthroughs, with his checklist and falsified notes already through and over with, he walked out of the prison with a smile and a "I'll make sure to send you your reports." He walked off to where Tomahawk and Aquila were stationed, his legs shaking as he pulled a cigarette from his suit pocket and lit it up.

"So, uh..."

"_What?_" she asked, teeth bared.

"He's not there."

"Not..? What?"

"He's _not there_."

"This is the right prison though, you _said_-"

"Yeah, well, he's _not there_, Aquila," Gargoyle proclaimed, releasing a stapled packet of names and handing it to her. "His name should be there as Imaizumi. He's _missing_." She felt her face pale out. "Since... five months ago."

"Then where is he?"

"I don-Aquila? Hey!" He shouted, watching her turn on her heel towards Celadon. "Aqui-"

"Man, let her go," Tomahawk whispered.

* * *

She fucking _knew it_. Aquila felt her heart pound as she zeroed in on Celadon City. She even had a good idea of where Petrel currently was, and it was the same reason Proton wasn't talking to her. All the events were related. Petrel disappeared around the time Proton stopped talking to her, and Giovanni had stopped bothering to give her missions. Everything was related, and Petrel was, for some reason, unable to contact her. She wasn't sure why and she didn't care. She could only see blood in her vision as she passed by where she knew Giovanni's office was. No need to alarm him that she _understood_. She grabbed her wallet and Pokemon when she returned to the base, changing out of her uniform into civilian clothing so she could enter Saffron City without hiding.

She boarded the magnet train, flashing the same fake identification and train pass she had many months ago, feeling the feeling in her chest flair up as it stuttered to a halt in Goldenrod. She entered the city, finding her way to Proton's flat and breaking the door down when no one answered her knocks. She tore the flat down until she found what she was looking for, leaving the mess behind a closed door as she broke into a dash into the heart of the city and the underground passage. She shoved her way through the midday crowd, pulling her hood up over her head as she made her way into "The Underground," as Proton had called it in his little note she had found.

When she entered the dark underground, she activated the doors in the way she remembered from his same notes, cackling as she remembered Gargoyle's one tip for her, "never write your password down, someone _will _find it." She entered the last door, her teeth grit when she saw his green hair. He looked at her with wide, green eyes as she shoved him into the wall and slid him up it the same way Giovanni had done to her three days ago.

"Where the fuck is he?" She roared, looking up at him. He whined out something and she growled, shaking his thin frame. "_You know who, where is he?_" Proton swallowed before she let him go, walking off. He caught up.

"Aquila, stop! Hey! Stop! Aq! Wait-"

"What?"

"He's not _here_," Proton said irritably. Then he sighed. "I think... I think he's in drug production today. I dunno. But he's not here." She stared at him.

"He's _working?_" The younger teen shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Uh, yeah."

"For Team Rocket?"

"Yeah."

"Then why the fuck haven't I-"

"Go ask him! I dunno and I don't give a damn!" She could see the lies on his face, but she whirled around, leaving him in his stupid, horrible little prison. She didn't have the time or the energy to beat the shit out of him, both for not caring and because she had made a _goddamn pact_ with someone who, as far as she cared, was working for Giovanni in the same vein as Archer. If Proton wanted to be a total cocksucker, he could be her guest. But she wasn't having any of his shit any longer. She didn't even want to hear his voice anymore, the crackling voice of an adolescent boy.

It took her all of five minutes to snatch up a young Rocket girl and threaten her life if the girl didn't tell her where the drug production happened in Johto, and when she got the information, she seethed, throwing her into glass before she made her way to the north. It took much longer to have Aggron climb her over the mountains to the tiny village of Mahogany, all the way into daybreak when she broke into the building, a disgusting-smelling herb shop to find him.

Ah, lucky, lucky her, she didn't even have to maneuver through Team Rocket's little traps to find her target. When she entered, Petrel scrambled to his feet, eyes wide as he stood behind Archer, a filled syringe hanging by his side, who only looked at her with a dark smile. "So, you finally figured it out."

"What the _fuck!_"

"It's about time. Boss has been testing you for so long, but you sat and destroyed your little home like a trapped Rattata. How very unlike you, to take seven months to take matters into your own hands," he said calmly. Petrel pressed himself up against the dark wall as if he could blend in, his usual tell-tale spiked hair flattened against his head. He looked between them silently.

"What are you tal-"

"We fucking tricked you!" Archer roared, "we tested you, and we tested _on_ you." She advanced on him, teeth grit, before she stopped as he continued, "and Executive Petrel here has been making the drugs."

"Executive... drugs?" She looked at Petrel who stayed silent, his eyes looking away.

"Yes, drugs, you stupid bitch," he replied, his patience gone already, "it's not hard to break into someone's flat when they're blacked out, you know? Everything you've drank, everything you've ate, it's been laced. And a nice little team of psychologists watched how you reacted. And don't bother getting mad at Petrel, he tried to fight against it, but, well, it's easy to control a man when all you have to do is remind him that if the police so much as see his face, he's a dead man. Back on the point, you acted just like the little Rattata in their little cages, on a path to kill yourself. But then, you would _surprise _us, with your sudden outbursts. Breaking the mirror, throwing things, the Rattata never had spontaneous anger, the Rattata never fought back. And it told us something." When she stood, pale and stiff and silent, he rolled his eyes. "It showed us you're an uncontrollable monster. You obey the orders you feel will protect you or someone you care about, but never the other orders." He stood up, putting a few centimetres between their faces, "you're stupid and you think you're as bright as Ariana, Petrel or me, but you're not. You're worthless and replaceable and you don't know your own job, your _only_ job."

She stared into his eyes, feeling her breath become shallow and uneven. The world felt like it was spinning underneath her. Archer smiled darkly. "But Boss still thinks with time that once your little heroes are picked off, one by one, you'll figure it out. And when you do, you'll become the obedient killing machine Boss has tried to build you into. If not, you're as replaceable as a grunt." She felt her world shatter around her and she looked at Petrel for some form of help, but he offered nothing, looking away from her still.

"Is that... how I failed?"

He growled in irritation. "Yes, you daft slut. You're no Ariana, you're a fucking idiot who thinks they know the best for Team Rocket while trying to piledrive it into the ground." Aquila swallowed, touching the scars on her collarbone subconsciously, shoving her nails deep into the scabbed cuts. "Stop trying to be Ariana. You can order around grunts and murder people in large numbers and get away with it, but you're no Boss, you're not Ariana, you're not _me_ and you're not fucking Petrel. We all have something on you: we can think without ending it in blood, and _you can't_. So you keep fucking getting away with murder and keeping your fucking mouth shut, and Boss will appreciate you again."

"How? How can I prove myself?" She was desperate, looking at the group of Rockets in the shop.

"We'll figure it out," Archer sighed out. "Don't try to figure it out on your own, Aquila, you'll fuck it up like you do every. Single. Time." She stepped back biting her lip. "If it wasn't for Petrel, you'd be in prison, and no one would rescue _you_. He's saved your ass more times than you could count up to, so go back to Kanto and wait for some orders like a good girl."

"What about..." she felt her voice die as she remembered Petrel was no longer an Elite Officer, now an Executive. She felt so alone. She looked at her previous partner again, but he made no movement towards her as Archer took his seat again. He glanced at her, his expression steely before he muttered something and left behind a previously hidden staircase in the floor.

* * *

It was another month later before she was standing in front of Giovanni in a clean, ironed uniform, at salute, with an expression that would make Archer smile his Houndoom-smile at her. While she was sure Giovanni didn't know it - and she was _sure_, having checked every inch of her flat for hidden microphones and cameras - she had more pills in her system than she was sure would knock a full-grown Snorlax to its death. Her mind was working at a steady rhythm of listen, obey and do, and it had for the past month as she had toiled away at figuring out what she _could_ do.

Hell, even Ariana seemed pleased with her stance. And Ariana was never satisfied with her.

"Archer tells me you want to prove yourself." Her Boss never looked up at her, absorbed in his paperwork, despite the fact he had finally called _her_ there.

"Yes, sir."

"You have one chance," the older man finally looked up, his black eyes showing how serious the statement was. She didn't swallow, she didn't move. She was too drugged up to get _nervous_. "You have a month to make up the money we wasted on you over the past year." Of course, they hadn't given her a single pay cheque in eight months. She knew exactly what he was talking about: the money they had spent on drugs to see if there was a stealthy way to make her obey. It had been an utter failure, due to the fact her brain just didn't work like a typical person, Rocket or otherwise, but she knew the repercussions to that now.

"How much, sir?"

"Approximately three hundred thousand Pokeyen."

"I'll do it, sir. Thank you." She threw her arms by her sides, turning to walk out of the office.

"If you fail, we will send you to prison and Archer will see to it that Petrel's crimes are dropped and you will be the cause of the Prime Minister's murder." She nodded.

"Yes, sir."

There was no time.

She dashed from his office, chatting with the drug production facility's executive with an expressionless voice before grabbing a load that she hauled back to her flat, setting it on her blood-stained bed before she grabbed her laptop, her pupils narrowing to focus on the screen. She spent two days, sleeping once during the time, to research Sakaki Corporation's biggest rivals before she emerged from her room on the night of the third day of evaluating her situation. She stood in Petrel's bathroom, staring into his mirror to conceal her face with makeup. She slid in black, iris-enlarging contacts before putting on a lightly curled, light pink wig she had bought at some point when she had wandered to find food in her research-hazed mind.

With her powers combined, she looked like a total fucking good girl.

She grimaced, grabbing cotton to shove into her bra to pad herself out before she grabbed a Pikachu-based hoodie and hat, pulling the hood up over the skull cap. Double the Pikachu, double the fun. She leaned in, applying a thick layer of lip gloss to her now, suddenly, full lips. She looked like a totally different person to the point it disturbed her, but it was all part of her plan, no matter the fact she looked like an obsessed high school student who never got to go on a Pokemon journey like all the _other _kids. From the coat and hat, to a brown skirt, yellow and brown striped stockings and yellow-laced brown hiking boots, she had become a total parody. She smirked, leaving the bathroom and grabbing one of Petrel's forgotten bags, shoving drugs into it at a rapid pace.

She walked down the hall of the complex, ignoring the neck-craned stares to shout, "if your friends want some drugs, tell them to find the Pikachu!" She smiled, putting her arms out to her sides in an arrogant way. She curled her fingers, flashing yellow nail polish at the onlookers.

Oh, she would definitely make them money. She beamed at people as she passed them by on the street, selling the image by spinning happily and giggling in a way she knew she hadn't since she was seven years old. People in Kanto _loved _that shit. It was only when she landed in the slums of Celadon City that she lost some of her allure, her hands in her pockets, flashing every sign she knew would tell people she was loaded and ready to off it. It took her exactly twice before she got the hang of walking by someone and sliding a tiny bag or pill bottle into someone's hand while simultaneously taking their Pokeyen. It was foreign, but soon, she began to have people search her out by her peculiar drug uniform, some people even looking around before asking "are you the Pikachu?"

By halfway through the night she just lingered around a ratty convenience store/filling station for a couple hours, smoking cigarettes and drinking frothy convenience store 100 Pokeyen coffee with her lips pouted out and eyelids droopy as addicts came up to her themselves. Still, she made haste to scatter when she heard the first siren come even a block closer, finding another niche to sell her wares at. When her bag was empty of drugs, replaced by Pokeyen, the sun was making its arrival upwards and she dragged herself to the base, crashing on the couch she hadn't sat on in over half a year. She fell asleep the moment her head hit it.

This went on for another three weeks, to the point she actively heard about "the Pikachu with the drugs" in the base and outside of it, in hushed whispers among drug addicts on the streets. She replenished her stash on a twice-a-week basis, figuring out the drug trade quickly, while becoming more and more aware of the threat that lied around her every few nights when she would be assaulted for a crazy addict to try and steal from her, in which cases, she maneuvered to where a drop of blood wouldn't land on any of her carefully chosen clothing. During the days, she had taken up sabotaging Sakaki Corporation's biggest competition, taking long, in-depth notes on stock changes among the lot of organisations. The pills in her system made her a silent machine, to the point none of her drug exchanges were with a single word, and hushed conversations on a cheap flip-style cell phone were one-sided from her steely silence as someone called her, begging for some of her stash. She hardly even chattered to her Pokemon from the concoction in her veins, but their distance from her still lived on anyway, so nothing had really changed there.

Still, all things came to an end one day.

She had made back all the money that was sent back to drug production, all the money Giovanni had claimed she owed to prove her worth and _then _some, clocking her final count in as smoke billowed over it at over one million Pokeyen, and that was before she included the sharp climb in Sakaki's stocks. Aquila watched the sun come up as she chain-smoked, eyes dull in a completely different way than they had been two months ago, recalculating the money in her mind. If that didn't show she could make money and be productive and _obey_, all without resorting to murder, she wasn't sure what could. When the sun was higher in the sky she stowed her cash and stock notebook into a backpack, rolling it all very carefully to fit it all, before donning her uniform and making her way to Boss's office.

Bright and early, like always, Giovanni was in his best mood. He looked up at her when she dropped the bag at her side and snapped to salute. "Yes, Aquila?"

"It's three days from an exact month, sir. I have your Pokeyen."

"Let's see it."

She grabbed the bag, and on his command, pulled every little roll of cash out, unrolling them and stacking them into one-hundred thousand Pokeyen stacks. When she was done, she grabbed the notebook, flipping to the final stock page. "I hacked into the systems of Sakaki Corporation rivals, working to sabotage their organisations from the stock exchange." Giovanni began to count the money as she continued, "I watched the stock game for the past three weeks, documenting every change in your stock and their stocks, and when I found files that I knew were top secret, spread them into anonymous forums online, destroying their chance to patent their ideas. While their stocks plummeted, those same stocks were moved into your stocks, naturally. I left no trace of who threw their documents to the Mightyenas, sir. There is no trace, and they'll be stuck looking at a roomful of wiped servers if they try. From my calculations, that's another four million, eight hundred thousand Pokeyen boost to the one million, three thousand Pokeyen you have there from drug dealing through the nights." She set the stock notebook, full of screenshots of what she had done, on an empty space on his desk before snapping to attention.

It was a quiet, painful twenty minutes before he finally spoke, his hand holding the binding of her stock notes carefully. "I see..." he set the last stack of Pokeyen down. "And you've paid drug production?"

"Yes, sir. The money there is all profit. There was only a few times where I had to self-defend, if it was on the news. It was all self-defence, I never intended to hurt anyone more than I had to," she added, eyes dull, staring straight forward.

"And this sudden change is due to Archer's talk with you?"

She sighed softly, "and a drug concoction in my veins." She knew if she wasn't honest now, she would have no more chances to make up for lost time.

"I see. Gargoyle and Tomahawk will be booked in due time," she felt her eyes widen slightly, "to clear Petrel's name from the books. Do not warn them. This is your final punishment for disobeying my orders, Aquila. But if you continue on this path, I'll see to it that you get more missions in your future, a working member of Team Rocket." She smiled darkly.

"Yes, sir." It was a small cost to pay, seeing their names lit up on her television that night as the true murderers of the Prime Minister. Team Rocket and, by extension, Petrel's name were both cleared of the issue, and it was that night that the current Prime Minister publicly apologised to the gang, and Hibiki Imaizumi, for accusing them of the issue, before making a statement about Team Rocket that was less than pleasant, warning the people of Kanto to be en garde of the group and such, but nothing near the slander that had happened about the group before. She watched the newscast with unfeigned interest, watching Gargoyle and Tomahawk as they were led into court for due processing, then back out of court, aged beyond their years in just the short sentencing period. It didn't matter. She smiled as she turned the tv off, kicking her feet up on the coffee table as she lit a glass pipe full of weed. She had had a part of Petrel's name being cleared from the public's scornful eye.

What she didn't expect, however, was, within three hours of the national television report, her partner bounding through the door and sweeping her up into a rib-crushing hug, having not even taken a moment to loosen the purple tie around his neck.

* * *

**A/N: -squees-**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: dissing all sorts of claims since c. mid-1500. _Disclaiming_ since c. 1400.**

* * *

She had watched him inspect the flat in the state she had left it, knee-deep in drug dealing and taking down organisations worth more than her whole life's work, with mild interest. Hearing Petrel gasp as he walked into the bathroom and saw blood staining every surface and a broken mirror; watching him crane his head into her room to peer in at sheets that hadn't been changed since she would drag herself there after cutting herself open when she could, along with the very carefully placed glass bottles, their necks reached high to the ceiling, to match her exact leg's reach from one opening in the bottles to the next, and pill bottles stacked into a pyramid on her desk; listening to him sigh in relief when he realised his room was virtually untouched... it was all very amusing to Aquila.

What, did he think Archer had lied?

"What _happened_ here?"

She shrugged, staying quiet. The drug concoction still hadn't worn off, and the weed in her lungs wasn't helping. God, it was so amazing to watch him move, to finally see him exist again. Wait, what?

"Aq, answer me." No reply. "Aq?" Nothing. She just watched him pace, touching the scalpel hole in the kitchen, inspecting a freezer full of leftover vodka and an empty fridge, grimace at the stack of dishes that had stagnated for months, rummage through shreds of newspapers on the table. She watched it all with the same ridiculous hyper-focus she had had when watching stock markets. But Petrel was much more interesting to watch than _stocks._

He wheeled on her again, clearing his throat before calling her name again. No response. She could tell he was getting irritated with it, but her mind really didn't want to form actual words. He loosened his tie finally, running a hand through his flattened mohawk. Why was it not spiked? She wasn't sure. Why was he wearing a suit? No idea. But it looked dashing on him, at least. It was even more dashing when he removed the overcoat and showed a thin black tank top underneath. What was she even thinking right now?

He threw himself on the couch and she scooted to give him room as he pulled a cigarette out. She still felt woozy and unsure of what she thought of him. This man, her ex-partner, this Executive, twenty-two year old male, had been the one making the drugs she had spiralled out of control on. Though, of course, that wasn't the _only _reason, but it was probably a big portion of her psychotic state over five, six long months of horrible feelings and emptiness. She eyed him, wondering if he was only there to put more shit into her vodka, before banishing the thought. That was only when she was blacked out, Archer had said. And anyway, Petrel had no _reason _to administer more drugs to her, he was in the clear. There was no way for him to see his death, except by the hands of Giovanni. Would Giovanni kill Petrel? Well, he hadn't killed her, so probably not. Hell, Giovanni hadn't even put her in the underground cells, and if that wasn't proof enough, she wasn't sure what was.

Aquila averted her gaze when he looked at her instead and sighed, trying one last time to call her name and get her to respond verbally. Her glancing back at him when he said it wasn't enough for him, evidently, because he irritable sighed again and stood up, excusing himself formally before he left in a huff. Oh, well. Temporary visitation. She felt the usual feeling of being utterly alone again, watching him leave the flat.

It wasn't until the next day he returned and she was off the pills, her upper body curled up on the couch. She felt her face twitch and _what the fuck was that_ she wrenched her eyes open just as the feeling on her face was removed quickly, and it wasn't until the blurriness from her sleep had faded that she could understand what was going on. By then, her partner was across the room, staring at her. "Eh?" She whined.

"You're talkin' to me now?"

"I... oh. Oh, Petrel, it was the pills," she smiled weakly. "Nothing important."

"Pills?"

"They make me concentrate."

"Oh. I'm sorry," he whispered, running his hand over his beard as he averted his eyes. "I'm sorry for the drugs... everything. I was... I was being threatened, Aq, you know, I fuck up, I go back to the pin." She stared at him, but made no answer. "I..."

"You didn't even care that it could have killed me?"

"It's not that!" His eyes were wide with fear at what she said. "It was that... I was bein' punished too, Aq, you have to understand, I-"

"Punished?" She cackled darkly. "For what?"

"For _fuckin' up_, Aq," he replied.

"How was that punishment?"

"Archer knew!" He barked. "Archer's known I was fuckin' in love with you since... since two years ago!" She winced. Was in love. What did that mean..?

"Oh."

"What happened?" His tone softened and he looked at the bathroom, as if in fear.

"It's nothing."

"Nothin'..?"

"Nothing. I'll clean it up. I've got to get to Boss. He wanted to talk to me again." With that, she slid into her room, methodically stepping over bottles while he watched her to grab a clean uniform to put on. She really needed to clean up if she expected Petrel to stay more than a couple hours at a time, but the task seemed so daunting without her pills. Funny, how a mix of uppers and downers would do a human mind: instead of being a huge clash of wars like you'd _expect_, it took all the good from both and slapped you in the face with all the good without the horrid side effects. Theoretically, a user could still eat, if they weren't absolutely absorbed in whatever they were doing. A user could sleep or simply not sleep, completely up to them. But the mix of drugs made her hyper focus in a way she couldn't describe. She felt mechanical on them. Still, Aquila wasn't going to swallow back a whole pill bottle, an assortment of thirty or more pills, while Petrel watched. Hell no. There was something about his presence, and she was sure it wasn't just that it was him, that made her throat close up at the thought.

She made her way past him as he stared, gawking at her, into his room to use the iron set up in his bathroom before she closed the door to change, emerging with a brighter feeling in her chest. A fresh, warm uniform always had that effect. It was a temporary, small thing. It was a wonder she hadn't become absolutely enamoured by laundering clothing in the past half year. She waved at her partner before leaving him behind, making her way across the city.

"Sir," she said, standing at attention. God, her eyes were so wander...y. Aquila really, _really _missed her little cocktail.

"Aquila," he responded. "It seems you're good at something else. Selling drugs."

"Yes, sir."

"We're going to move you into that field, as well. Expect your final workday to be that. You will resume your usual work schedule next week. This week, we'll transition you into working normally."

"With Petrel, sir?" Her Boss laughed, softly and in a tone she knew was making fun of her.

"Petrel's due to go back to Johto next week."

She felt her jaw tighten but stopped it before her teeth ground themselves together. Not now. She could have her emotional outburst later. She imagined her skinny arms beating down on Petrel's chest. Yes, later. "Yes, sir."

"You will not be partnered again, Aquila. There is one mission for you," he paused, sliding a black envelope towards her. "Read this by the end of the week and _do it_ by the end of the month. Not now, of course." She nodded, grabbing the slip of black. "This will be your first hit. Good luck. You can go now. I expect you to be back with ample results." She nodded again, turning to leave with the envelope clenched in her fist.

She didn't open it until she got back to the flat and she felt herself gasp and step back into the door, her hands shaking hard. The envelope fell to the floor, facing to show an emblazoned red 'R'. Petrel glanced over and asked her what was wrong, but she was too quick to burn the piece of paper in anger, making her eyes fade to a dull stare.

* * *

The days went by slow but incredibly quick: she didn't want to see Petrel off when he boarded the magnet train, despite the fact they were much more distant now that there was almost a year of time they had been without one another, but she was ready to satiate a long-overdue blood lust.

She would use her first kill after months when she needed it, unless the last day came and she hadn't found a time.

So the week went by and she saw Petrel off, hugging him briefly before he boarded the train, his eyes filled with a sadness she didn't expect. Surely, his lust was _gone_ by now. He _was_ in love, but not any longer, surely. He certainly seemed to hold his tongue, never once calling her a sweet name, never once kissing her, on the forehead or otherwise. He was an empty shell of the man she had known, with his frequent laughter and lopsided smiles gone. He vanished with the magnet train and she watched him, turning when the train was gone. And that made her angry, if her hazy mind could even comprehend anger.

And then the next week rolled by and she began to receive drugs as night fell, the grunt in charge of her stash smiling at her grimly, as if he didn't even enjoy holding the substances his department made. Over time she starved herself of the pills she craved, if only to return her mind back to normal. And with the starvation, the beast within her chest roared back to life, as if disappointed with her lack of pills as well. And she found herself smiling more, in her little pastel wig, as she danced around would-be assaults, holding her scalpel at their neck and whispering sweet words into their ears before squeaking like a Pikachu and slipping off into the night, the cotton-filled ears on her head bouncing with her glee as she passed people who held their hands out and palmed money into her grasp as she exchanged a ball of white powder into theirs.

Businessmen and salarymen and all the strippers in Kanto, _unite_. May your soul be with Pikachu's cocaine.

Still, she found herself falling into the same spiral as before whenever she would return home to an empty flat that Petrel had totally existed in for a week. By the second week, she had had enough, staring at her hardened face in the mirror before throwing her arm to the side to send the bottle of concealer into the wall to pour onto the floor in an arch of pale skin tone.

It was time.

She removed the wig, grabbing her uniform and pulling it on, looking at herself in the mirror one last time before she left the flat, grabbing a clean scalpel and sliding it into her belt. She could feel herself shaking, out of excitement now, rather than the fear and anxiety she had when she first got the name of her first hit in ages. Aquila breathed out into the winter chill, watching her breath disappear into the daylight as she darted across the city, into the neighbouring city where her uniform alone would net her two months in prison.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She felt the heavy feeling in her chest as she ground her teeth together, sliding into back alleys of the large city, only to jump off a wall and grab with all her strength onto a ladder, which she climbed until she straightened herself upward on the fire escape stairs. She took in a familiar air, her eyes lighting up maliciously as she climbed the stairs slowly and pulled her scalpel out to pick the lock to a familiar door.

No one was there.

She closed the door gingerly behind her, breathing in the faint scent of cooked rice, before she wandered into the hall, looking into a room. A child's room, eerily clean and with a thick layer of dust hugging every surface. But it was exactly what she expected, a little white television in the corner, facing a child's bed with a red blanket on top, still covered with Pokeplushes, little dolls with beady eyes that stared for the return of their owner, a child who hadn't returned in enough time to built up dust atop their little heads as they waited ever so patiently. She closed the door, listening to the rusty creak before she wandered down the small set of stairs to sit in the living room in the one armchair that faced the door, a paranoid habit of a paranoid owner.

* * *

Petrel was goddamn miserable and he didn't like being so fucking miserable.

The week with Aquila had not gone so pleasantly, much to his chagrin. He had expected her to kiss him the moment he threw himself at her with an embrace to crush her very heart, but not only had he not been met with a kiss, he hadn't been met with even much of a hug back, just an awkward patting before he let go and got up to inspect the damage to their - his _previous_, her _current,_ he gritted his teeth - flat, while she was silent and staring him down. Ugh.

And he knew when he told Proton about it, the boy would just shrug and say "she'll snap outta it eventually." But Petrel wasn't so sure and _why the fuck _did he have to be so fucking stupid and say he had loved her when his heart had pounded before he opened the door and when he had seen her as Archer chewed her out. Sure, she looked horrible, but he had helped her once, and he could help her again if she would just let him. And he really wanted to just stay by her side and fucking _help her._

But she was the tight, steely Metagross once again, another fucking Reflect or Light Screen for him Brick Break through and that agitated the everliving _fuck _out of him. At least she had taken his apology somewhat sincerely, but all that _blood_. It horrified him when he scraped some of it off with a scalpel and ran it through a DNA test, again and again with more scrapes of the dry blood, to realise it was all hers. Not a single corpse had been mangled in that bathroom, not a single drop of blood didn't read the same DNA as loose hair he found in the carpet. And when he sat and watched the recorded footage Archer had, he had to turn it off and get up to vomit as soon as he saw her cut her own flesh.

What had he _done?_ He sat in his new flat, drained and exhausted. What had Archer, no, Boss, made him _do? _It sickened him, and he couldn't help but wonder what Archer thought of it all personally, not that Archer would ever indulge in his honest opinion what he thought of what Giovanni made them do on a regular basis. Making chemistry to destroy people, making, or, rather, letting Proton do as he wished on prisoners - Rockets and outsiders alike - down in his little prison cells... it all sickened him, but when he walked into work on the following week, he felt all the feelings drain away as he was met with faces that seemed genuinely happy to see him.

Well, at least someone was.

Work resumed as normal, but unlike the months he had been without her after prison, he could feel his state of mind falling apart in a way he didn't expect. He was a psychologist's fucking dream, and that thought made him chuckle darkly as he made poisons for the outside world, his hands working through the motions of methamphetamine-making. He just wished he hadn't ever been tasked with the Prime Minister in the first place. If that incident had never landed in his lap, this wouldn't be happening and he'd likely be nutsack deep into Aquila, _at this very moment, _making her scream out in pleasure his name.

He grimaced, pulling a beaker back before he poured it, shaking his head before returning it to pour it carefully into the solution of trash-smelling drug. And the way she had simply not reacted to him, the pills she was taking, it made him want to scream at Kanto's branch of drug-production to stop giving her the shit. Sure, without it she was volatile, but she had true emotions at all times and Petrel hadn't fallen in love with a cog in the machine of Team Rocket, he had fallen in love with a brutal, ruthless killer. But that was kinda his _thing. _It's what made her all the more elusive and fascinating, and Giovanni was trying to crush that.

Sure, she didn't fall in line all the time, but what was wrong with that? He sighed, sitting back in a chair to let the meth cook down. There was no point in thinking about what Giovanni wanted from Aquila, but that he had to return the favour to her. She had genuinely tried to save him from prison - five months too late, but the effort was still there - and without her, Gargoyle and Tomahawk wouldn't have taken his place as the country's biggest threat, or whatever they were. Whatever he had been. And he knew from the initial tapes that there was something lingering within her cold, complacent heart. The way she drank herself nearly to a lethal blood-alcohol level told him that much. She needed to be as even as he was, but then, what did that mean? Murder and get angry in her free time, be a cog in the machine when Giovanni called upon her to be a hitman? No, she needed to be happy. Petrel needed to make her _happy_. He stood up to grab the cook, draining it into a flat container.

He would make her happy.

He wound his way back to his empty flat when he judged the meth's value, content with the fact he had made Team Rocket another batch of million Pokeyen drug. Purple, worn-out eyes stared at the television, flicking through the channels slowly as he channel-surfed before he stopped cold, nearly dropping his glass spoon. "New Police Chief Victoire Kobayashi taking the stand," the newscaster said in his pure accent.

* * *

If she had been in any other frame of mind, in any other location on the planet, she would have chuckled in amusement while she looked at the barrel of the gun, pointed directly between her eyes, only three metres away. Aquila stood at a stance that declared the moment she heard a single click she would be out of the way of the inevitable bullet and the woman before her stood with a tank-ish stance that declared a certain sturdiness, a lack of fear to shoot first and end it right there. The flashing red digital clock on the stove top reflected against the many gold and silver badges adorning her collar. Aquila hooked her thumb in her belt slowly, staring at the woman with an expressionless face.

They didn't breathe for what felt like hours in the smoke-filled room - it had been a horribly boring seven hours of waiting, all leading up to the very moment the woman had walked into the door and held her Arcanine back despite the desperation in the canine's voice. The sound of shattered glass still echoed up the stairs and down the halls, a lifeless crash when the older woman had finally seen, perhaps smelt, what Arcanine had tried to forewarn her about. Nothing about the layout of the flat had changed, not a bit, other than technological upgrades: a flat screen television instead of a tube model, an IP-based phone with a screen beside it instead of the old rotary one, digital clocks instead of analogue, but the layout was the same. The television was still against the same wall, the red armchair Aquila had spent a better part of her awakened state for the day in still faced the door to check for intruders.

It still smelled like rice and fried Magikarp, until the smell of stale food made Aquila smoke out of frustration.

The woman stepped forward, but the air was still thick and Aquila shifted her weight very slowly, watching the woman carefully as she turned on the kitchen light. It took only a moment before they both straightened up and the Rocket felt her first breath hit her suddenly when the pistol the woman had held so tightly and tenderly before fell to the floor with a loud clatter before it skid away from the Police Chief's body towards the Elite Officer.

They stared at one another, the older woman, with her piercing, searching grey-green eyes and her dying red hair and her withered, wrinkled face and the younger woman with her hardened, scarred face and rusty coloured eyes and hair. Slowly, their eyes moved downward, dull eyes taking in the Police Chief uniform with its dozens of shiny badges and wise, wrinkled eyes taking in the black Elite Officer uniform with a bloody red 'R' positioned on the front with its large collar and fringes.

"Odette?" Shaky and withered and unsure of itself was the voice Aquila heard. It was not the calm and relieved voice she knew the woman was trying to push.

"Hey, mother," she replied dryly, looking back up into the pale, but stark, green eyes she had envied as a child but now made her nauseated. It didn't shock her that their faces had come out so drastically different: her mother's anger, despite feeling like her life was in danger, was child's play compared to the malice she had seen on her own face the day she shattered the mirror. "I see you finally advanced."

"Odette..." Victoire whispered, walking forward and narrowing their distance, if only a little. "You're... part of Team Rocket." Her voice cracked and she lifted a hand to her own mouth as she took in the uniform once again, as if she couldn't believe what she saw. The younger Kobayashi lifted her arm to rub the first, police-given, gun bullet wound she had ever gotten on her left shoulder, rubbing her black-gloved palm into it under the large, flattened collar. She knew her mother _had _to be aware that not only was she part of Team Rocket, she was _advanced _in Team Rocket. Few people wore her uniform, the last uniform that wasn't exclusive to the wearer, aside from a pair of stockings. Red, white or black only. Aquila chose black. Aquila always chose black.

"Yeah, I guess life turned out that way, mother. Ironic, isn't it? All I knew as a little girl was crime, crime, crime, how evil Team Rocket was even as a tiny little gang, but here we are, on the opposite side of the force." She smiled softly, but her mother never returned it. "I never had friends, but now, two of my friends are locked up for life and I have many others, who talk about crime with me. It's lovely." It was a lie, but her mother didn't need to know that all of her friendships had just recently come crashing down around her. No, she needed to have the upper-hand here, the intimidation factor. And maybe a small part of her brain still considered all of them friends, in a sickly, desperate sort of way.

"Sakaki-" Aquila couldn't help it, she broke into a broken laugh, throwing her head back after a moment to cackle at the ceiling. Her mother's obsession was strong, a force to be reckoned with, if nothing else. It was likely the reason the woman was still living.

"Yeah, Sakaki," she breathed, wiping a tear away before she was embraced by Victoire, a pitying hug that made her heartbeat speed up in rage. She left her arms by her side, staring over her mother's shorter head before she patted her on the back, soft and gentle. "You were right, mother. But no one believed you."

"We can destroy them!"

"You didn't even _find_ me."

"We can destroy them with your knowledge!" Her mother was beginning to break down and cry, she could hear the tears threatening her voice.

"No, mother, I don't think we can, with my knowledge," she whispered, eyes narrowed into the darkness outside of the flat. That was a plausible resolution: her knowledge told her that taking down Team Rocket was impossible; the police wouldn't be able to catch them and they had become too big, Sakaki's fingers were in more politician's pockets than her mother even _knew _about.

"Wha-?" Aquila looked at her mother's broken face. She could see the years of torment behind her withered wrinkles, the years she had gone before she had given up on ever seeing her daughter again, and here they were, nearly a decade later. "Odette..." she whispered, lifting a hand to brush a stray strand of orange behind her ear. It made her cringe on the inside. But her mother only looked over her appearance and Aquila let her with a sigh, letting her mother pull her glove off and roll her sleeve up to look at the tattoo on her arm with a strangled gasp before she broke down on her bony chest. Aquila stared down at her, eyes dull with a lack of emotions. She had expected the hit to be _hard_, expected herself to crack under the overwhelming emotions of seeing her old room and her old home and her mother. She expected the breakdown from her mother to make her feel like shit.

The truth was, she didn't feel _anything_.

Her mother's nails scraped down her back as she sobbed in agony, making Aquila arch and hiss quietly in pain as scabs were torn asunder, unknowing to the International Police Chief. She could almost feel her mother's sudden breakdown as it dawned on her that her daughter had been kidnapped by Team Rocket, under Giovanni Sakaki's demands, the man she had an almost otherworldly obsession with, only to be turned into another one of the crowd of faceless people in black. And despite the fact the Rocket could distinctly remember she _had _missed the withered woman who cried and held her in a death grip, she couldn't remember _why. _She had spent so much time, the whole first year with Team Rocket, perhaps more, laboriously plotting to revenge-hit Team Rocket where it hurt just to return to her mother, but long gone were the childish reasons why.

Still, she would let this woman, a woman she felt nothing towards any longer, have her moment of bittersweet reunion. After all, it wasn't like her other hits - where someone had done something truly, horrifically wrong in her mind - this woman was Giovanni's way of seeing if she was obedient enough to kill her own blood without causing any interruptions. It was simultaneously the easiest mission she had had to prove she was obedient, but the hardest eye-opened Aquila had ever had thus far. As far as the Rocket could tell, Sakaki, in an odd way, had almost completely replaced her mother. He had taken care of her when she was supposed to be sold, he had given her more chances than she deserved and she would find it much harder to stand in a kitchen and stare into his black eyes before she had to do her job with a soft-spoken apology. And in the end, her mother had never done anything wrong in her own mind, she was just the lawful side against their organised chaos, and Aquila didn't expect her to know any better.

She moved her arm slowly, as to not disturb her shaking mother, sliding the scalpel out of it's hidden spot in her belt, using it to push down the light switch on the wall, sliding the plastic covering off the blade as she did so. Her mother looked up at the clatter it made when it fell from the light switch to the floor and bounced under a cabinet's overhang. "Sorry, mother," she whispered, lifting the fresh blade to her neck. Those pale green eyes, full of tears and horror, widened as Aquila push her back towards a corner. "Genuinely. But Giovanni Sakaki," she chuckled, walking her mother back with every word, batting the woman's weapons on her belt off and pushing the scalpel to her neck, "has his orders, you know. And you know how the saying goes..." she waited for her mother to reply, but it never came. "Oh, come now, ma, I know this phrase is used in the prison system, my good friend Petrel, ahh, sorry, _Hibiki,_ told me." She saw her mother's eyes go wider, if they could, the bottom rim filled with tears. Her frail, older body shook with fear and horror. "Come on." She tapped the scalpel up against her chin, encouraging her to speak.

No intelligible reply came.

"The nail that sticks up gets hammered down, mother." She nicked her mother's neck, making the woman scream in horror, rather than pain.

"Odette, please! I can help y-"

"It's too late, ma," she smiled darkly, showing her yellowed, crooked teeth. "You don't know what freedom is, until you can kill a man and get away from it," she leaned in and whispered in her ear, "maybe even a couple thousand people." She leaned back, looking into her mother's searching, disgusting grey-green eyes. She grit her teeth. "And fuck you, for not rescuing me when fucking Ishikawa was _raping me_, ma, thanks for that. He had the same disgusting green eyes as you, ma, the _same fucking eyes._" Her mother screamed her name but Aquila growled, her face contorted with rage, "it's not Odette, mother, get it fucking right!" And when her mother choked on the response, her eyes going dull with loss and defeat, Aquila smiled once more, her eyes brightening up in contrast.

"Sorry, mother." She sliced her neck, watching the blood spurt out of the main artery with a wicked smile, relishing the loud sound of her body hitting the floor with a thud and the rushing sound of her mother trying to take in air only for it to never reach her lungs as it rushed out the new hole she had made. When it calmed and her mother's pulse confirmed the kill was done, she cut her mother's right eye out, grabbing her lost glove, scalpel plastic and the Arcanine's Pokeball before going upstairs. She looked into her old bedroom one more time, grabbing a Meowth plush on the way out before she took the fire escape out, locking the bottom latch as she left. Aquila breathed in the night air, pulling a cigarette out to smoke it as she walked down the fire escape stairs, rolling the eye in her pocket between her thumb and forefinger, the plush shoved between her arm and side.

The mission was easy, but it wasn't satisfactory: her mother hadn't put up a single fight, thus, the beast within her wasn't satiated. She fled into the forest, looking through the leaves at the stars when she felt safe and secure by the tall trees. Sometimes they would rattle from the passing magnet train not far in the distance and she would watch Murkrow and Noctowl take to the night, scattering from the noise. Sometimes, she would wonder if it was Petrel on the train, coming back to Kanto, but she knew it wasn't likely. She had fucked up and she was partner-less, but that was all right, if it meant she got one-man hits on simpler targets like this night, instead of trying to commandeer whole groups of grunts into battle like the night Petrel had got arrested.

She looked towards the sound of the passing train with a small frown before making her way to Celadon City.

* * *

**A/N: Portioned sugar packet.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: one day we'll get to the sexy stuff, I swear. You're not just all here... wasting time waiting for the porn.**

* * *

She set the eyeball on his desk, looking him straight in the eyes just as he got in his office. Maybe it wasn't exactly what he was asking for, but as the green iris, dead and dull, rolled towards him, he smiled a curt little smile at her. She smiled back, a genuine smile, looking into charcoal black eyes of the man whom she realised really did treat her far better than the owner of the grey-green eye that sat on the dark red wooden desk, or the man whose surname she had been forced to take from birth who had never been in her life, despite her mother's refusal to change her name back. She went to salute. Now she understood. She understood everything.

Aquila understood why Archer had such a disapproval eye towards her disrespect, why Petrel had tried to drug her despite his alleged own dislike of what he had done, why even Proton had fallen in line and why Ariana was in love with a man who was almost double her age, to the point she bore his child and stuck by his side. It had all clicked. She didn't know all of their stories, she only knew her own and a bit of Proton's and she didn't want to know their stories. But she was sure that Giovanni had his wrist tied to each one of them like the famed Sinnoh Red Chain, having rescued each and every one of them from some unspoken horror. He was the horrific silhouette in the eyes of the public while simultaneously being the reason the region's Pokemon Centers continued to be able to work for trainers for free, a business man who was hailed by the same people who would fear him if they saw him where he sat now. At the same time, he was the unshaken terror of the Team while being the binding that kept them together.

She understood.

And for the first time since she had come into his office she closed her eyes, feeling a stream of tears roll off her eyelashes and down her cheeks.

"Sir, I want to apologise," she whispered. "I was a disobedient child, unconsciously trying to tear down Team Rocket like I had wanted to as a little child down in the prison. I led grunts off guard on purpose, without realising it, I trained High-Ranked Officer Proton, but I injected my words into him to be as disobedient as I was. I even wanted to get Executive Petrel to not take his missions as seriously as he does. I failed, of course. But I tried, every mission, I _tried_. I'm s-sorry." Her voice cracked suddenly and she couldn't hold salute anymore, grabbing her mouth in her glove as she felt a sob attempt to screech out. She furrowed her brow to try and make the tears stop, but they fell to the floor in soft patters.

"I understand." He rolled the stolen eye in thought. The moment of silence, broken up by the sound of tears hitting the floor, stretched on for a few moments, but Ariana finally broke it for them.

"Giovanni, you're not-"

"Ariana, don't even say it."

"You're not honestly _considering _this, are you? Words mean _nothing_." Giovanni didn't look at her. "She could be talking complete shit, because she's feeling bad for killing her little mom-"

"Executive Ariana," Aquila felt her eyes narrow, "I didn't feel _anything _killing her. I realised where I've been wrong for so long, but I felt nothing for _her_. I let her have her little meltdown, I'm sure she missed me, but I felt nothing. If you're willing to give me a chance, I'll prove I'll be one of the best fucking Rockets in this whole organisation, but if I can't get a single chance, _I can't prove that._ This is my home, my family and my life, Ariana. I have nothing else. If Team Rocket falls, I go with it." She wiped away the last of her tears with her wrist.

"Boss has been too soft on you!"

"Ariana," he finally said calmly, but there was anger bubbling in his undertone.

"Boss, if any other member of this organisation was as unpredictable as her they would have been sent to the Underground."

"Ariana, you're beginning to sound like my mother. Pain does nothing to Aquila," he finally looked at Ariana. "You saw the tapes. Pain is not a teacher for her or for Proton. They are not Archer or Petrel. You don't understand that these sociopaths would slit their own throat to prove a point to their enemies."

Aquila stared at him in shock. Was that it? Was this _test _supposed to be her teacher? Well, it had worked, she lifted her hands into salute slowly, as if suddenly reminded she had dropped salute from her outburst of tears. But then, it had become very clear to even her that she had grown more complacent to misleading grunts as she advanced. In fact, becoming an Agent was the one reason she had decided to, figuratively, hang the traitors she, herself, had made. Giovanni had her psychology down to a coldly calculated formula. Advance her, and she became one step closer to becoming a true Rocket. The problem was that she had hit a barrier upon hitting Elite Officer. Until this particular murder.

"Sir, I don't understand," Ariana seethed. "Archer and I had to work for our advancement, but she and Proton climb the ranks like it's a child's stool."

"And Proton is pressed under my thumb. He hasn't stepped out of line once since hitting High-Rank."

"Giovanni, darling-"

"And let me remind you we have a pathetic team of drug dealers in Johto. They bring in one million Pokeyen combined a month, and there are hundreds of them."

"She's only spent a month and a half dealing!"

"And she's brought in more to than all of them combined in the same time period."

Ariana sighed in defeat and Giovanni looked at Aquila again, lacing his fingers together in front of his face as he stared her down with harsh black eyes. "Relocate to Johto, where you will receive further orders tomorrow. There are no Elite Officers in the dealing department there. I want to see how you can manage the grunts. If you do well enough, I may very well make you the head of the dealing department in Johto. Of course, if you fail Team Rocket now, Aquila, I will see to it that you will be dealt with harsher punishment than you've ever dealt with in your life."

"Yes, sir."

"You will return to give me reports weekly while working under Executive Petrel," she felt a shudder run up her spine. "Get yourself settled in tonight and get your key card. Your assassin duties will be put secondary to your dealing duties, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then go, and good luck." She nodded, eyes steely as she turned quickly and dropped salute, leaving his office.

It was a frenzy as she shoved bottles out of the way to pack everything she knew she would need. There was no time to clean, she shoved the pyramid of full pill bottles into her bag, and it didn't matter - Giovanni would just get a grunt to clean the mess she left behind with an irritated huff. She jumped out of her room when her clothing, laptop and pills were shoved into her backpack, maneuvering to stick the glass weed pipe, Pokemon food, Meowth plush and her make-up kit into the bag, zipping it shut with a grunt as she put all of her, admittedly pathetic, weight down on it before she left the flat.

Aquila didn't look back once at the place she had once called home, where she had spent so long admiring Petrel but where she had fallen apart at. She didn't lock it, if only to allow some kids to break in and take the booze stacked in the freezer. She hoped they had fun with her laced poison. It was like a clear rollercoaster of emotions in one glass package! She left her key with a grunt in the front office before she left altogether, making her way to Vermillion to take the long way to Johto. She flashed her Rocket identification - although she could never understand why it existed anyway if they all wore uniforms - to the grunt standing to the side before boarding the cruise ship S.S. Anne.

It was a long few hours later as she realised she _really _wished she had taken the Magnet Train instead, because the ship cruised along at an agonisingly slow pace before it finally docked in Olivine. Then it was another trek of glaring at children who, at first, ran up to her and shouted a chunk of Pokeyen at her and to battle before they would step back at the sight of the blood-red letter on her chest, before she reached Goldenrod finally, finding her way to the dark brown complex that reached high to the sky mid-afternoon sky. She was exhausted once more, another twenty-four hour running toll on her body after weeks of running around every single waking moment to do her assigned drug dealing and assassinations.

Aquila took a moment to consider seeing if Petrel was around, maybe ask him if he needed a new flatmate or something, but instead she found the grunt who ran the complex, asking for a keycard to a room on the top floor with a window overlooking the city. With a little Pokeyen incentive, the grunt finally pulled out a card, looked around, and handed it to her while she pocketed Aquila's cash, scurrying off with a neurotic look in her eyes. "Just remember that that's supposed to be Boss's if he decides to stay in Johto!" She shouted back.

'Kay.

Aquila took the elevator, pouring out of it when it reached the top to find the flat number that was printed on the card before swiping it and sighing the moment it opened. Of course she had made the wrong choice: this flat was completely unfurnished, unlike Kanto, and _shit _she had left the flat unlocked. There was no use going back to try and grab her stuff and somehow con someone into shipping it for her: there was no way that flat screen television hadn't already been lifted. She sighed, tossing her back inside before she slid the door closed behind her, hearing it click twice as it automatically locked. Well, that was pretty cool, _auto locking doors. _Kanto didn't have that.

Still, maybe it would have been better to find Petrel or, she shuddered, Archer and beg them to let her crash on their couch. She sighed and stretched, sliding her door open and peering out in the hall before she pulled her head back, peering at the scene that unfolded in front of her. She could see his familiar crooked gait and hear his calm voice as he led a girl, giggling and hiding her mouth behind her free hand, to his flat, pulling her up to him against his door.

Well, fuck.

She watched them with gritted teeth as they sank into his flat, two doors down from hers, and the door closed with the pressurised sound of hydraulic. Aquila stared down the hall before she snapped her door back to a close, letting her Pokemon out as she breathed heavily in anger. "Fucking _Petrel,_" she whined to them as she grabbed their food from her bag. Thermite peered at her with her head tilted to the side. "I _knew _it was just lust, fucking... fucking asshole," she finished awkwardly, her tensed shoulders dropping as she realised she had nothing to feed them with. "Errr," she looked at the Pokemon food bag and back at them before she grabbed her scalpel to rip it open, setting it on the floor and portioning it out for the group of four. "Sorry, guys," she whispered, "that's all I got and, _yeah, Stalker_," she heard him cackle at her, "I know, no fucking bowls. Tephrite's going to eat it if you don't." The Rhydon in question snapped his eyes back to his own portion.

She opened a bedroom door, sneering at the traditional paper style door before she found a particularly plush part of the carpet and laid down. Well, at least it wasn't a bloody bathroom floor or something. Still, she looked at her wallet with dread before she drifted off to a much-needed hour of sleep. The shuffling of her Pokemon as they inspected every little corner of the flat didn't disturb her slumber.

* * *

It was the next day when she finally had her flat somewhat set up - well, she had a tiny refrigerator, a microwave, a plug-in hotplate, a shiny new television (although it was distractingly tinier than the one Petrel had bought with her money so long ago) and a _ridiculously _cushy couch. Plus, she had enough bowls for her and her Pokemon for now. And _internet, _sweet, sweet internet. She also had a Pokegear, though it became a hassle when she realised Archer had an affinity on sending out base-wide texts full of unimportant shit with the sweet reminder at the end that he _was _the boss of Johto.

She had even pulled in her stash of drugs for the week, a big pile that sat in one of the empty bedrooms. It felt good to be a Rocket in that very moment, making instant ramen on a hot plate in the middle of really shitty dramas made for housewives. She almost felt like she had a _new beginning,_ that was, until she remembered with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach that she had to report to Petrel in a few hours before donning her ridiculous Pikachu costume to sell drugs. She glanced at the soap-opera when the music skipped a beat and fell to a low tempo, chuckling (was it the weed? Actually, she was sure, it _was _the weed) when a woman shoved an older man screaming something about 'baby daddy' and being 'deadbeat'. Oh, so it was one of _those, _those shitty Unovian dramas that got translated and just, she chuckled, it sounded so silly translated. It didn't even _fit, _if a man was deadbeat in Kanto, he usually just ran off under daddy CEO, he never returned to get bitched out. Why the fuck would you return to the Garchomp's den if you were a Bagon?

She stirred her noodles, chuckling every few minutes at the dramatic music and supposedly dramatic scene before she pulled the pot off the hotplate, unplugging it and kicking it to the side, leaning back against the couch. As the food made its way to her stomach she realised it was conglomerating into a thick, pasty mass and she set her pot on the floor, watching carefully as Tephrite edged close to it and dumped the contents in his mouth. She raised a hand to strike at him before he set it back down with a sheepish smile, well, as sheepish as a one-hundred and twenty kilogram rock monster _could _smile. He edged himself away before he bound over to cuddle with a still-sleeping Aggron, waking her up with loving nudges. Aquila smiled at them slightly, watching Thermite bat him away with an irritated scowl before she finally cracked an eye open to look up at him.

Maybe that was: why would you return to an Aggron's den if you were a Rhydon trying to wake her up? Aquila shuddered at the sound of metal claws slashing open rock, but Rhydon didn't seem to mind, sprawling out on top of her in response and making a low hum akin to the sound of a pleased sigh. Their little display played out like how Aquila felt somewhere deep inside, but she shook her head to get rid of the image as she grabbed her drug-dealing Pikachu 'uniform' out of her bag and pulled it on. A bit wrinkled, and the wig wasn't playing nice today, but Petrel would have to deal: she had no iron anymore, nor did she have the cash to get one.

She changed in the bathroom, an old habit she had yet to shake, before returning and petting a yawning Aggron and Golbat on the head as she passed them both, smiling as they gave her the same quizzical glance they always gave their owner when she donned her uniform. But hey, it was an image, and she had a product to sell, and if big corporations had taught her anything, it was that image sold a product in droves. And it worked. Too well.

Aquila didn't feel so confident when she stood outside of Mahogany's secret base, knowing Petrel was right inside. She went inside, pulling her Rocket identification from her bag's side pocket (and growling when she had to remove a contact lens just to prove she hadn't stolen the identification, because, you know, good high school girls obsessed with Pikachu steal I.D.'s) to gain entrance into the drug production facility down below. She could feel her strides growing shorter as she reached the lowest level, and the white paste in her stomach threatened to fight back as she knocked on the last door. She cursed, feeling the tell-tale signs of bile as Petrel opened the door lazily, his eyes hidden behind goggles and _goddamn that **smell**_. She grimaced, looking at him before stepping back to let him close the door. He took his respirator off, grimacing at the remnants of pure chemical.

"Uh..?" He looked at her, an eyebrow raised. She frowned before realising her disguise was working even on him, chuckling softly.

"It's Aquila," she said, raising her identification once more.

"Holy shit," he looked her over, scrutinising every inch of her disguise with interest. "Holy _shit. _You're pretty goddamn good at that."

"Yeah, yeah." She wasn't in the mood, feeling the noodles flip in her stomach. Ugh. Instant ramen could be the worst sometimes. "So I come here and report to you and hand over the money, right? So Boss knows we're in the clear and all that."

"Yeah, that sounds 'bout right," he looked away from her awkwardly. "So... you're stationed in Johto..."

"Yes, is that an issue?"

"No," he whispered, but he frowned, scratching the back of his head. "We have missions together agai-"

"What?"

"Boss didn't tell you?" He looked at her again.

"No..."

"Well, it's the last two workdays. Just like old times," he smiled at her awkwardly, the distance in his eyes obvious. "'Cept, I guess you're kinda busy, since you're workin' night and day then." She groaned.

"Yeah. Well, I better go," she turned, "I gotta off lift this load before the cops hear about me. Tell your friends if they want the drugs, look for the Pikachu," she grinned back at him, chirping like a Pikachu before she darted off, ready to leave him and his chemicals and his stupid lust and his stupid hair and stupid eyes and stupid curved back and _stupid human resources girls _behind. She dashed around a corner, slowing down as the noodles threatened their imminent escape once more. Talking to Petrel had never been more awkward and vomit-ensuing before.

There really was something about dealing, skipping down the street and chattering like a Pikachu while slipping baggies of illegal rubbish into twitching or mellow customers and taking their money that just put her in a good mood. And there was something even better about Johto: _less cops _and _more users_. How the fuck a team of some few dozen grunts couldn't sell this shit like fucking candy was beyond her. The poorer region had more strung-out junkies than Kanto could imagine, in even the smaller towns, she found out as she wandered north over time when buyers became fewer and fewer in Goldenrod. People who just wanted their hallucinogens and downers to pray to Lugia or some shit, it didn't matter.

Sometimes there _was _something to satiate her blood-lust. And that was taking money and exchanging goods at a fast pace to anyone who gave her a certain look. And just like her first time dealing in Kanto, it wasn't long before people began to outright ask her if she _was _the Pikachu, before whispering some drug they wanted, before circling the town with their money in hand. It was _pretty cool. _And she got a right laugh out of the neurotic bitch who owned Ecruteak City's Pokemon Center who demanded she had better have a nice fix of some kind of upper pills for her because Hyper Potions had just run out of their allure for her.

No problem.

When she had run out of her drugs and replaced it with wads of Pokeyen, she stole a bike, riding through the countryside as the sun began to set before ditching the bike at the edge of the water in the route between Mahogany. She _really _needed something to surf on, but for now, she rode her Rhydon over the mountains, watching him eat dirt by the fistfuls. Fucking Pokemon _stayed _hungry, she really wasn't sure how she ever kept food stocked, but she returned him when she made her way into the smaller town, returning to the cheesy souvenir shop to return the money to Petrel. This time, he let her in the lab, having cleaned and aired it out to a bearable level. She dug through her bag, counting out money.

"Here's," she did the mental calculation in her head, "uhh, fifty thousand's about right?"

"...How much did you sell?"

She glanced up at him. "My whole stash, Johto's got _lots _of users, Petrel. I think fifty's about right." She pushed the money in his hand before she pawed through her bag. Yeah, it _looked _about right, if all the notes floating around was indication enough. "Don't know what the other grunts are doing around here, because I offed my whole stash, but that's why I'm here." She shrugged, making the light pink curls bounce around her face.

"You're an Exe-" she laughed.

"Hell no, but there's no one to manage the shit lords who are trying to sell here, so... I guess Boss's testing me. I'll see you tomorrow," she said, zipping the heavy bag up again and lacing a thick lock through the zip pulls to secure the money. "I wish I was an Executive," she shrugged. He waved a goodbye to her, his mouth full of smoke. She heard his faint voice right as the door closed with a seal of air.

Even _if _she was in a better mood, talking to her now-superior was awkward as hell. She pulled a cigarette out, evading traps and hydroponic-grown plants as she made her way back to the surface. "Hey," a grunt called out. She looked back curiously. "There's a warp right there," he pointed, "it'll take ya to base." She smiled wide.

"Thanks," she stepped into it, feeling the teleportation device work its magic instantly. She climbed the stairs (regretting it, of course, three-fourths of the way there but seeing no point in taking the elevator by then) and collapsed on her new couch, letting her Pokemon out lazily. When Aggron sniffed the forgotten ramen pot, she kicked out, making the big Pokemon scowl and plod away, rubbing her head where the impact had been. She looked over the dozens of texts Archer had sent out and rolled her eyes, setting the Pokegear to the side, making a mental note to grab a more anonymous flip phone the next day.

She fell asleep quickly, proud of her little stash of cash.

* * *

"Let's just make this work," she said, staring straight forward at passing cars. She had missed her Team Rocket uniform _so much_. She shifted her shoulders, flattening the collar down around her shoulders. In all honesty, she had given up on eating right before she had to see Petrel, but at least today there wasn't a mass of white paste threatening her. Take _that,_ instant ramen.

But here he was, standing in his new Executive uniform, in the same alleyway, taking a smoke break with her before they did what they had met up here for. Aquila wasn't sure how the hell this was going to work, but at least Boss had went _easy _on them (Petrel may have worked that one out), giving them a simple mission where, as long as nothing went wrong, they'd not even have to call upon violence or see the eyes of Goldenrod's lazy police force, and even if they did, all they'd have to do is flash some cash, smile sweetly and pay the shopkeeper his money, quadrupled, and see themselves out. Their mission the next day would be an utter failure if they couldn't even work together _now. _It _would _have some sort of violence, almost guaranteed. Petrel wasn't the quietest walker and she wasn't the type to really care about being quiet for the sake of whoever had what Team Rocket deserved.

He nodded, staring ahead with her at the target across the street, "yeah, let's get home early, I'm beat." He breathed out smoke, staring at the little blue shop.

Neither of them moved a muscle, even after they tossed their cigarette butts into the rubbish in the alleyway. They simply stared forward, making mental calculations of _how the hell would they get outta there if the police showed up _without having to rely on the other person. Aquila knew her sense from the last mission they had had together was completely busted: she had been completely shocked when he finally showed up and tapped her on the shoulder to the point she almost whirled around and pulled her surgical knife on him. It had made him chuckle in amusement, but with that, she felt more dread than she had tossing and turning all night thinking about the very mission they were doing right now. It just made her realise her Petrel-radar was completely torn down, which even if today's mission was fine, would make tomorrow's mission a total bust. And she wasn't in the mood to fail so quick after her redemption.

And god, she was fucking tired. But she had another night of dealing before she could sleep. This time while keeping an eye on grunts, observing them while they ran around in their little pairs with their uniform hoods up. What were they doing with the money Johto was so keen on letting them have? She dreaded having to fight off sleep to keep a close eye on them. Then again, maybe there was an easier way to figure out where their cash was going, and she had a very clear idea that the money went into their own pockets. She was sure Boss knew this as well, but they needed concrete proof.

They stared at their target together for another long moment before they sighed simultaneously. "Let's go," she whispered, and he nodded again, but there was _another _long moment of calculations as they peered into the brightly lit shop before Petrel repeated her words and stepped forward, breaking a chain of wishful thinking to pull them both towards the Pokemon Mart like it was a magnet. How pathetic, an Elite Officer and an Executive being nervous to shoplift, like a pair of childish grunts, but it was true. The month was coming to a close, and with it, more cops were on the prowl. And while those police officers seemed to be more interested in petty traffic violations, this would be the story of the month if they busted two high-ranking Rocket members in their boots. They entered the shop, making the little bell above the door jingle at their entrance while some shitty pop song belted out over the loud speaker in the ceiling.

The girl behind the counter weaved behind a display, showing only the top of her head as she looked at them with curious, wide eyes. Petrel peered around the display, giving her a lopsided grin before, without her notice, making a Potion fall to the floor with an almost ear-ringing crash. The girl jumped and Aquila moved in on her when she heard the tell-tale ring of a sales register that had ejected all of its Pokeyen all over the counter from accidentally being hit. She looked down at the girl, who had instantly bobbed down to duck as if Petrel had pulled back a pistol hammer, then looked at the counter with dull eyes. Pokeyen had, indeed, flown everywhere, and Aquila scooped it up, stacking it as if she were doing the girl's job.

"Oh, darling, I'd not do that if I were you," she whispered icily when she saw the girl's hand dart under the counter. "Why don't we just scoop this up and you can call your little cops once we're out of here, and you can report the theft and have the government pay you in due time? How about that, eh?" The girl's arm shook as she kept herself from just barely tapping the unseen button.

"And why should I do that?"

"Because by the time they get here anyway, they're going to have a whole lot more to look at than an empty register," Aquila whispered, pulling her pistol out and pointing it at her, pulling the hammer back. "Go ahead. Press your little warning button. I dare you."

The girl's eyes were wide enough to let her fucking eyeballs pop out. "Oh c'mon now, don't _scare _her," Petrel whined, leaning over the counter to grab a forgotten, empty packing box. "She's bein' a good li'l girl, isn't that right?" The girl looked at him and his sickly amused smile, nodding slowly, unsure if she should or not. Her arm dropped like a fainted Geodude. "See?" He scooped entire shelves of content into the box, "she's bein' a good girl. And I don't feel like smellin' shit this early in the mornin'." Aquila rolled her eyes, staring at the ceiling for a moment before continuing to scoop up the cash with one hand. Of course Petrel would be worried about this stupid clerk shitting herself in fear. Only Petrel could think of that in such a tension-filled moment. She slid a rubber band around the Pokeyen, shoving it in her belt.

"Well, that wasn't so bad, now, was it?" She held her hand out towards the girl, pulling the gun back to her side. After a few moments of the girl just staring she growled from irritation. "Fine, be a brat, then." She retracted her hand. "Alright, let's go." She saw the girl tap the silent alarm button as she turned. "_Goddammit, _what the _fuck _did I _just _tell you?" She growled. Petrel stopped in his tracks, craning his neck back. "I told you to do that shit _after _we were gone, you stupid fucki-"

"Let's go!" Petrel roared.

"Yes, sir!" She shouted back. "You got lucky, _cunt_," she spat back at the girl before meeting Petrel and cramming herself out the door beside him. They took their time leaving the scene, not worried about the notoriously slow cops in Johto. When they made their way into base, they parted and Aquila didn't look at him to see his expression when he realised she was only two doors away and her flat was horribly empty. She didn't _feel _like paying attention to his expression.

* * *

Oh god oh godohgod_ohgod_ this was not good and _fuuuuuck_. She glanced over at her purple-haired partner who was panicked, his back in a corner. She had two options right now: deal with her own problem or _get the Executive out of his wall of bodyguards_. They surrounded him like vultures looking at roadkill.

It was the worst day to take those fucking pills but she had woken up _so tired_. She looked at the bodyguards looming around them. There wasn't time to waste, not even to try and reach in her pocket for something to take this hazy, obedient feeling away. But there was one good thing: her mind was on speed and time was slow. She looked between the guards who were looking at her and the ones who were surrounding Petrel.

"Aq-!"

She lunged, grabbing her scalpel before she heard the clicks of machine guns reading their fire. Aquila shoved herself between the body guards, feeling time slow down further as her adrenaline kicked in on top of the uppers she had downed less than an hour ago. She used their bodies as shields against one another, before she heard another click and looked to her right at it, maneuvering to slit one of the guard's throats right as he pointed his gun at Petrel. "P, move!" She shouted, but she saw him pull his pistol out as if in slow-motion. "P, _fucking move!_" She roared, trying to still the crowd of bodyguards by pitting them against one another.

"I-" he silenced himself, his eyes narrowed as he watched everything around him happen. She swallowed. Two choices. Always two choices. The room was painfully quiet as everyone took in their options. She could see the faceless bodyguards around them considering downing their comrades to get the two Rockets, while the two Rockets in question decided if they should go all-offence or wait for the guards to move first. It was like they all held their breath before Aquila smirked and jumped first, reanimating Petrel into shooting as fast as he could while she shoved guards in the way of gunfire back at him.

_Oh god_ they were both cornered, holding their guns with outstretched arms. Blood pattered on the floor from her scalpel and she swallowed. She could feel Petrel's ribcage, smashed against her shoulder, as he breathed in quickly and sharply. There were seven of them, staring them down with curt smiles.

"Why don't you kids give up so you can go to prison, have your five years and try this again?" Someone sneered. Aquila moved forward, stepping in front of Petrel. She felt her chest heave as she looked at them and smelt the strong scent of blood circulating the air.

"Or, you know, we can just... not." She shrugged. She felt Petrel's breathing hitch in preparation and she dug her shoulder into his chest, motioning for him to move. When she felt him nudge back she started the mental count and, after three long seconds, they split apart, narrowly avoiding bullets as they fired at the fixed spot, before shooting off four more targets. She roared, launching herself at a target who aimed at Petrel, slitting him in the throat and making him topple backwards from his loss of balance. When the gunfire cleared out she stood, swaying, staring at the bloody carpet and the corpses for a moment. "Hurry," she whispered, her ears ringing. Petrel nodded, purple eyes still wide with life-threatened fear, as he grabbed what they were there for in the first place: a box filled to the brim with political files. She grabbed another, smaller box, hoisting it up and following him as he darted, as jerky as a spider, down the hall, checking every single corner for a sniper.

When they broke free and boarded a copter on the roof, they released their actual first breath in a while, sliding down the seats behind the pilot who glanced back at them as they lifted off. "Bet that was fun."

"Yeah," Petrel said hoarsely. He coughed. "Totally."

"Petrel, is that...?" She felt her eyes go wide, "Petrel, you're _bleeding_."

"I'll be _fine,_" he gritted his teeth as she prodded his rib. It had just scraped by, between two rib bones, but his breathing was erratic, just like his movements had been earlier.

"Petrel-"

"I'm _fuckin' fine._" She looked up at him, searching his face, but he never glanced at her, looking straight forward with grit teeth. She grimaced, looking around before deciding on her stocking, pulling her boot and sock off to wrap it around his wide chest to at least stem the flow. "Don't."

"Petrel, why..."

"I'm fine, it's not even bleedin' that much."

"Why are you..."

"Just drop it," the pilot said calmly. "Once Executive Petrel is done talking, he's done, don't you know that?" She growled, tying the ends of the stocking together anyway. Petrel did nothing, not denying her attempt or thanking her or... anything. He stared straight forward, his teeth bared together under his thin flesh. He was so pale, his eyes blank of emotion while he pulled his fingers through his hair to flatten the spikes.

Deep in thought.

Aquila sighed, looking down at the things they had grabbed for Giovanni and her own bag she had brought filled with money and files while she shoved her other stocking down in her boot. The whole ride there was awkward, and by the time they landed on top of the Kanto base, Petrel was holding his side, eyes dull, limping. She frowned. "Do we need to go to med-"

"No, I'm fine," he said, hoisting his box up with a grunt. She followed him quietly, peering at him over her own box as they made their way down the base and through the city. They put the boxes full of files on Giovanni's desk and she set her bag in front of his desk, before straightening their backs to snap to attention. Petrel pulled her stocking off, shoving it in his pocket while he did, staring forward. He didn't seem to notice how he was swaying, and if he did, his face didn't reveal such information.

"Sir," they both said quietly, faces stony as they looked at him.

"Yes," he replied, flitting his finger over tabs of files, his eyes darting to and fro to make sure they had gotten everything. "How did your mission go?"

"Sir, everything went fine. There were some complications," Petrel said, not revealing his pain or lack of breath in each syllable. "We got cornered by a group of bodyguards... I suppose we should have paid more attention to their whereabouts. We dealt with them accordingly, bullet for bullets."

"Any traces left behind?"

"No, sir," Petrel grit his teeth, bending his torso some to alleviate pressure on the wound, "we filed down any bullet numbers before entry. I had my suspicions we would end up in a bad situation. While we couldn't thoroughly clean the area, I checked while I walked that no trace of us could be found."

"Do you have everything you need, sir?" Aquila chimed in.

"Yes. How has your week in Johto gone?"

She breathed in a sigh. "It's gone well, sir, but I think I've found where your Pokeyen is going, if I may." He motioned with his hand for her to continue and she grabbed her bag, unlocking the lock slid between the zips to pull a spiral-bound notebook out and open it up carefully so the papers she had shoved inside it didn't fall out. She set the notebook down on his desk, showing him screenshots of computer screens. "There is also this," she pulled her Pokegear out of her bag, tapping the screen for a moment before holding it up towards him, pushing down a button with her thumb. She rest her other hand behind her in a half-salute.

_"How much did ya make?"_

_"Got ridda halfa my stash."_

_"We givin' it all today?"_

_"No, idiot, that's tomorrow." _There was the tell-tale static sound of her shuffling and a light tap as she pressed the Pokegear up to a door get even better sound.

_"So it's seventy-five hundred for us 'nd eighty-nine to Pe-"_

_"Shut up!"_

_"But that's right?"_

There was an irritated growl from the other member. _"Yeah, now shut up 'afore the whole base hears you!" _Aquila chuckled, pressing the button down again.

"The whole base didn't hear, but I heard."

"Did you identify them?"

"Sir," she slid the Pokegear into her belt, returning to salute, "there's no need to identify them. The whole problem is unsupervised children there. Executive Archer and Petrel can only watch them so closely and High-Ranking Officer Proton has other matters to deal with, sir. There's not enough supervision for greedy grunts there. They chatter amongst themselves," her eyes went dark, "where they think no one hears, but I do." She nodded towards the notebook. "There are more screenshots of them than there is chatter about it, but one thing I am certain of is that Johto has a problem when it comes to lying."

"Executive Petrel," Giovanni said suddenly.

"Yes, sir!"

"Keep tighter logs on who is grabbing supplies and how much they're giving you. I'm done with you, but if I can suggest anything to you, it would be to check in with the medical wing. You're looking quite pale, Executive."

"Yes, sir." Petrel bowed, releasing his salute before turning and limping off, running his hand through his hair in exhaustion.

Her boss smiled at her darkly and Aquila smiled back softly, unsure of what he was smiling for at all. "I had my suspicions that the drug department in Johto had some issues, but there appears to be a widespread problem of traitorous activities."

"Yes, sir. I don't think production is aware that these grunts are withholding money from you, sir. They appear to be getting an even cut, meaning they're not raising suspicion at the grunts as they ask for more and more to sell. As I said, every Executive in the region appears to have no time to properly assess the overwhelming amount of grunts who have recruited. Base is getting a bit full," she chuckled grimly. "I might even have to beg Proton or Executive Archer or Petrel for a place on their floor if this keeps on, sir." She looked away for a moment, in thought. "The dealing grunts seem to be slackers. Johto is filled with users, sir. My load emptied out faster there than it does here in Kanto." She looked at her bag. "Before we went on mission," or, rather, while she hadn't been able to sleep due to having to work with Petrel, but she wasn't going to mention that, "I counted. Considering a reduced rate of cost, Kanto prices don't work there, I _tried_, I'm shocked... I made about double what I make here in a week. I'm not sure if that's due to the slackers not supplying our customers, or if it's how it always is there. Perhaps it's both?"

"Perhaps it's both. Aquila, if you see any evidence of theft from the Team, you are free to send those grunts to Proton," she stared at him. Wasn't that a little harsh? If the workers of Kanto's underground prison were scared of Proton's prison... "But considering all of this," he tapped the notebook, "and other evidence and your," he chuckled, "_change of heart_, perhaps something else is in order?"

"Sir..."

"Sir, Ariana's gonna _kill _you," an Elite Officer in the corner said. Aquila glanced at him. They were always silent, eerily silent, with their faces obscured and black uniforms and machine guns, they were the exact type of room decoration that she never noticed until one of them moved, which never happened. There had been one time where one of them had sneezed, and it had made her jump hard enough to break salute. The two guards in either corner were out of sight, out of mind.

Giovanni shrugged. "Aquila, I feel that you can take control of the dealing grunts in Johto just fine. I'm impressed with your work there, and for that, you will be promoted." She felt her jaw drop. "I have been looking for a member who would take charge in the dealing department in Johto for some time as an Executive, and I feel it is time you were promoted. Of course, Archer is your direct superior in Johto, so you will continue to take his orders, but that isn't a problem, now, is it?"

"No, sir," she said quietly.

"This will be your incentive to continue working as hard as you have in the past month, surely?"

"Yes, sir." In all honesty, she dreaded working everyday of the week, working two different jobs, essentially, but... but a _promotion!_

"From this point forward, all of the dealing department will give you their money, which you will report back to me on a weekly basis. Compare what they give to Executive Petrel and what you receive and crack down when you see a disproportionate sum. And, of course, continue working with Petrel in Assassin and Medical." She nodded, if not a bit stiffly. "For now, continue to wear your Elite Officer uniform while you decide on your Executive uniform. There is a seamstress in Pallet Town who will make your uniform for you."

"Yes, sir."

"You don't seem too pleased."

"It's not that, sir, I'm just nervous."

"As you should be."

"Thank you, sir," she whispered. "Shall I..?" she looked at her bag.

"Go ahead." She grabbed her bag up, pulling the notes she had made over the past week out, rolling it out carefully as it dawned on her that she had finally reached the last promotion. She smiled. It had taken a long time, almost a decade, but it had _happened_. She pulled the last roll of Pokeyen out, flattening it out as much as she could.

"Thirty-six thousand Pokeyen," she stated simply, bowing before she grabbed her notebook and slid it back in her bag.

"Good work," he said as he stood. He grabbed a medium-sized box from a drawer and she stared at it before realising he wasn't going to offer it to her. "I have to be at the gym. Good luck." She bowed, making her way out of his office.

It was the most awkward elevator ride of her life standing beside her Boss, who said nothing but a soft sigh, as if fatigued by the very idea of battling and thrashing another child's dreams into the ground. There was a part of her that felt sorry for him, running between Team Rocket, Sakaki Corporation, Viridian City's gym and a newborn son, but then, he _had _been the one to put himself in that position. Aquila couldn't see how he managed it all, still. She was exhausted just by running around hounding grunts and selling her supply by night and stealing confidential documents and Mew only knew what else by day. She was becoming a workaholic, and being an Executive just meant more paperwork on top of that.

Maybe she really shouldn't be so excited for this. But, hey, on the bright side, _new uniform._ And that was good, because she was really sick of wearing the all-black Elite Officer uniform.

They parted ways, Giovanni into an unmarked helicopter and her, many moments later by his command, to the Kanto base, if not to check in on Petrel than to grab some extra junk from her old flat. Perhaps both. But when she checked both locations, Petrel was long-gone and her old flat was ransacked and virtually empty, except a peculiarly bent spoon on the counter. Upon closer inspection she grabbed up the paper napkin underneath, looking at the flowing kanji that she could tell from memory was Sabrina's:

_I don't know if anyone will read this, but I'm sure you will. I beat you. Bitch. _

Aquila grimaced, looking over the napkin before she realised a small photo was shoved between the paper, of Sabrina in front of the Saffron City Gym, late at night. She held up a golden pin and a piece of paper with a snarky smile in her Executive uniform and, Aquila squinted to attempt to make out the lettering on the paper before realising with a hard dropping feeling in the pit of her stomach that it was the same piece of paper she had seen floating around on Giovanni's desk on more than one occasion, the piece of paper from the Elite Four that declared Sabrina was a gym leader.

Fucking bitch.

* * *

**A/N: Hey, look at that, I didn't forget Sabrina. _Shocker!_ Writing Giovanni is hard as fuck, too, because I imagine he talks like this sophisticated old man with a really huge vocabulary, but, quite frankly, I have no idea how to write that well. Boo.**

**You know how I write Aquila obviously feeling awkward around him? That's because I can't feel anything but awkwardness, because I _know_ I'm fucking his character up. Son of a...  
Anyway, this bitch needs more _comedy relief_. And fun fact: Aquila killing her ma was supposed to promote her, but, you know, that didn't work out quite as well as I hoped because I wrote my back into a wall. Fun, fun. Still, at _least _it was an influencer, and a major one at that.  
**


	17. Chapter 17

**I gotta disclaimer for you, but, like, you're gonna have to pry it from my cold, clammy hands.** **_Achoo!_**

* * *

Pallet Town was a wonderfully small town with ridiculously fresh air. If Aquila hadn't chain-smoked her whole walk to the little south-eastern town, she would have actually been able to appreciate it. As it stood, she could still tell the area was absolutely free of chemicals and smog, despite the sight of a sprawling field full of Pokemon, some of them emitting toxins into the air. Life was good. Maybe, if she quit Team Rocket like the guy who owned the bar next to Game Corner, she would relocate here and set up.

Oh, who was she kidding, she would be just like the pub owner, unable to wrench herself from Team Rocket completely.

And, oh, right, her only person of interest was born into Team Rocket.

Well, shit.

Still, the small town cafe put out a tremendously gut-rumbling aroma and she had to dodge free-roaming children with their tiny little Pokemon in a charming way, even opting to battle some kids who shouted pathetically low sums of money at her and thrust their Growlithe and Pidgey at her with furrowed brows, only to thrash them and feel a little bad when her Golbat smashed into their Pokemon without a second thought. She would have taken it easy on them if she _could_, but there was no reason to invest time into grabbing a weaker Pokemon just to prevent these kids from throwing their Pokeyen notes and running away in tears. Well, if she looked _that normal_ to them, she might as well teach them young that normal trainers could thrash them, too. And really, she didn't even look that normal, having decided not to hide the scars on her face behind a drawn-up black hood. These kids were just too blind to see that she was roughened up, or perhaps they thought she was a Pokemon trainer who had went far.

Yeah, right.

Soon, she found the seamstress in the north-eastern corner of town, a slightly, or, well, rather, _very _clueless woman who had apparently not watched the news on her tube television in years. She took Aquila's uniform design, ignoring a three year old running around them, his red eyes wide and searching Aquila over curiously. There was a housewife drama in the background and Aquila wondered how this woman had a child at all while being so out of the loop that what her customer was ordering was, indeed, a Team Rocket uniform. Just who, exactly, had _fucked _this woman? She had to hold back a chuckle in front of the woman when she realised it was likely a Rocket who had taken advantage of her. No sane person would be willing to put up with the stupid bitch.

"And you want ten of these?"

"Ye-actually, make that thirty," Aquila replied, catching herself as it dawned on her that she never wanted to come back to this house again, but that ten wasn't enough when she was constantly being shot at. Okay, maybe Pallet Town was a shitty place to live after all. The shy toddler peered over the table at her, not saying a word, and she could only see his black, messed up hair and curious red eyes.

"Well, alright... that's going to run you about one-hundred thousand Pokeyen." _Oh shit._ Maybe this woman wasn't so stupid after all. And goddammit, Boss had never mentioned she'd have to pay the fee out of her own _pocket_. She grimaced, pulling her wallet out and checking it.

"Yeah, that's fine," she sighed, putting her head on her hand. Time for a cigarette. Already. If not from this woman, but from her son, who took the time to poke her straight in the ribs without his mother saying a word.

"Well, it's gonna take a couple days," the woman said with a small smile. "I'd let you stay here, but," she made a sideways glance at her son, who ducked under the table.

"Room's used up for the kid. It's fine, I'll live," Aquila replied. As if she'd want to stay here for a couple days. Yeah, Pallet Town was looking worse by the second. She stood up, pulling her pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. "I guess I'll be back in a couple days. On second thought, here," she grabbed the paper her uniform was designed on, putting her cell phone number down. "Call me on this number and say your name when you do, alright?"

"Okay," the woman chirped in a sing-song tone. It made the Rocket shudder.

"Alright, thanks," Aquila replied, taking her leave before the kid decided to poke her again and make her lash out for the woman.

Still, this led to another problem, she realised as she lit up her cigarette the moment the door closed behind her. She was now two days out of commission. Well, she could do _paperwork_, but if she was going to take a vacation, she was going to take a fucking vacation. But, Mew help her, she knew Petrel would tear her apart for suddenly bouncing on him in the medical wing. And there were drugs to be sold, none of which she had. Not that Pallet Town looked like a town where she could pedal a product anyway. _'Hey, kid, want some meth with your Pokemon battle?' _She chuckled darkly, walking back through the town, watching as a group of kids grouped in a circle to have a free-for-all battle.

Damn, now she kind of wished she had a shitty Pokemon. That looked fun as _hell, _with all their little unevolved Pokemon in a big circle of tackling. Then again, she had just sworn a woman the last of her Pokeyen stash until her next pay cheque, and without a spare Pokeball on her person, she couldn't join even if she really _did _want to. She frowned, walking past them. The smell of the cafe hit her again and, without thinking, she tossed the cigarette to the side to enter it, enamoured by the aroma it put out. When the waitress came to her table she told her to fix what the young woman thought was the best on the menu - unless it had Magikarp in it - while she thought it out.

Maybe thinking on an empty stomach was a bad thing (that's what Petrel had always told her, anyway, except he was talking about the munchies), because the thought of taking vacation was becoming better and better the more she thought about it while waiting for her food. The waitress returned, eyeing her visible tattoo with mild suspicion, before setting her food down without a word and skittering back off. It was some soup and sandwich combo that smelt faintly of Spearow meat. Strange. Still, it was pretty good for what it was. When she finished, she sat wordlessly, resting her chin on her fingertips.

And was she seriously trying to argue with herself that she _totally hadn't _cemented the idea of taking a vacation the moment she stepped out of the woman's house? Ugh.

She ignored her cell phone vibrating - sorry, can't deliver your drugs - in thought. She _had _just been promoted, and Giovanni wouldn't be so pleased if she up and took a vacation in some mountain town right afterwards, but on the other hand, she _had _just spent the past month or more... or less, she couldn't remember, doing nothing but work and sleeping with a few minutes to get herself prepared for the outside world, and never in her life had she worked so laboriously. But that was what got her promoted. She rubbed her fingers into her temples from the thudding headache she was getting.

She tossed her Pokeyen on the table and stood up, making her trek back to Saffron to ride the Magnet Train. Fuck, she was a workaholic just like Petrel or Archer now. What the hell.

It was exactly three days later when she got her new uniform and, in front of the woman and her son, tugged hard on every single one of them, willing the uniform to tear into pieces, if only so she wouldn't have to fork out one-hundred thousand Pokeyen, but not a single tread broke out of place and she cursed loudly, realising she had likely stretched her uniform needlessly. The toddler's eyes went wide but he said nothing, as eerily mute as he had been the first time she had come by.

Yeah, yeah, she said a _bad word_, she rolled her eyes. Aquila's patience with this child was nonexistent.

"Well, my Pokeyen?"

Aquila shot her an annoyed glance before pulling her wallet out, forking over the cash with a thrust, which the woman ignored, smiled and took without another word, not bothering to check any of them for legitimacy. "Can I try them on?"

"Sure, upstairs."

She nodded, trekking upstairs and slamming the door in the child's face, pulling the uniform on in front of a mirror. It was delightful, fitting tight around her thin frame just like she had ordered. While it wasn't completely different than a grunt's uniform - she decided not to stray too far from the typical uniform, although not wanting something like Ariana's longer uniform - it had a collar similar to an Elite Officer's, a design that rest out against her shoulders, with the biggest difference being that she could pull it up and button it together, hiding her face behind it. Both sides had a red stripe circling around it to match a white stripe two centimetres above the hem at the bottom of the uniform. Her only irritation was that she ordered the collar to be loose, but it was quite tight around her face and, with a sigh, a defeated thought ran through her mind that the woman had designed it for a complete native, conveniently forgetting her nose was longer from half her blood being from Kalos.

Ah, well. It was perfect, anyhow. She pulled the white gloves on, grimacing when she realised she had forgotten how much of a pain shoulder-high gloves were. It was still perfect, intimidating in all the right ways while staying true to the organisation.

For good measure, she looked around the room after she changed and before she left, grabbing a small Charmander toy off the child's floor and pocketing it. The opportunity was too great for her to give up.

And everyone knew kids fucking _loved _Charmander, and she _really _hated the red-eyed boy.

* * *

Something had to give, _right now_. Two months of this was making her nearly kill Rockets in the medical wing (and every time, Petrel would give her this scathing look of "get the hell out" whenever she nearly did) and Aquila was beginning to almost misfire taking money out of hands of addicts and now, here she was, woozy and sleep-deprived and even her stash of pills wasn't working. This was _not working_, and as much as Boss was happy to see her at the end of every week, she couldn't live like this. Paperwork the moment she got up, then off to do missions with Petrel in the afternoon, then dealing at night. And at least Proton was being kind enough to grab the people who she ordered to the Underground, there was _that._ Still, she got three hours of sleep a night - if she could even get to sleep in time - before she was up doing calculations of sums of money, clinging to a calculator to do the actual dirty work the whole way. Once or twice, Petrel had even hugged her tightly and told her he had the mission before sending her back to her flat... where instead of going on the mission, she caught up in paperwork. But here she was, a woozy, sleep-deprived zombie.

She stared into the eyes of the man who was thirty centimetres taller than her one-hundred and seventy centimetre tall frame. She could feel her brain trying to convince her she didn't care but there was a good chunk of cash on her back and an even bigger amount of drugs, and this man looked absolutely _frightening_. She slipped her scalpel out of her belt, only to be met with a pistol.

Great.

Aquila blinked at him for a moment. "Well?" She asked, her eyelids falling heavily before she pried them back open. Even her adrenaline didn't give a fuck enough to rescue her now, and really, this was not the time to be a snarky bitch, but here they were and if she was going down and out, she would do it in _style_. "Look, buddy, you can go ahead and shoot me and have all of Team Rocket find you or you can back the fuck up and either buy my product or let me go on my way to sell my product, but, dude, I _really _don't think shooting me is going to solve your problem, man."

Oh, now he looked livid enough. "The fuck did you just say to me, _bitch?_"

"I mean, you should probably get your head checked," she gripped the surgical knife harder. Oh, finally, her adrenaline was coming to life. "'Cause it seems to me that you may be a bit fucked up, chasing some pastel pink haired girl in an alleyway, trying to shoot her." No, _now_ he looked livid enough and she tilted her head when the pistol was shoved against her temple. She had exactly twenty seconds, she could _tell_. His face had already made his decision, but his slow brain was trying to catch up. She shoved him, slicing the scalpel with her thumb as she did and she ducked as she heard the pistol shoot blindly before she shoved him against a wall and kicked out to knock the pistol from his hands. "Yeah, I didn't think so," she purred, putting the knife to his neck. "I'm too tired for your shit," she whispered, slitting his throat as soon as she did, moving away from the stream of blood from his artery.

She felt her eyes close and had to struggle to pull them open again. Only a few dozen more passes and she would be done. She glanced away, down the street from the alleyway. Every muscle in her body was on fire as she tore down the street from the scene of her small crime, only slowing down a few blocks later when she saw the police conjugated around a building. She watched the scene amidst the other onlookers, gasping as she watched a pair of Spies walk out, their hands cuffed. She didn't recognise them and they, fortunately, didn't recognise her as the police hauled them off to their vehicle.

The very sight of the arrests made her walk off, back to base, no longer feeling safe on the streets that night. If the police were already buzzing with news of capturing a couple Rocket members, she couldn't imagine how much more active they would get. And anyway, it was as good an excuse as any to give to Boss, because she knew 'I was tired as shit' wasn't enough of an excuse. She smiled when she fell on her couch, cuddling against the back of it. The last thought she had of the night was, _if that had been Petrel and I, we would've been **fine.**_

* * *

It was another two weeks later until Aquila was finally able to feel rested up completely. A chat with Giovanni had gone over well, and he had calmly informed her that her department was managing much better and that she should relax. While her contribution was amazing, he admitted he was concerned about her health when she was even having a hard time standing at salute, her back hunched and her body swaying dangerously close to passing out. While she was still working on a daily basis, at least she was getting a full night's sleep and, on weekends, sometimes even a full night and a nap. Life was good.

At least now she felt fucking _fantastic_, and standing beside Petrel over time had become less daunting and felt more like it once did, throwing themselves around and working in complete synchrony with one another and working on patients with the utmost care. He no longer gave her a glare to get out during surgery and she felt renewed when he finally began to get a little more touchy. If only to throw her back and forth across hallways and to propel himself forward. But hey, at least he was _talking _to her once more, instead of giving her breathy sighs and glaring at her the moment she screwed up.

And mission after mission had been a success.

She just hoped their lucky streak would continue today, although she and Petrel had no active role, hopefully. The grunts around them blended into daily life, donning suits and other civilian clothing while the two Executives stood behind Archer, their eyes downcast in extreme nerves on the elevator floor. Aquila wasn't one hundred percent sure why - the man in the corporate penthouse office they were currently zooming towards had invited _them _there to make a collaboration with Team Rocket, where Archer had taken the call very calmly and told him he would be there with unnamed bodyguards. The man on the other end had just chuckled and offered to be guard-free when they arrived, an offer Archer took with furrowed brows.

The elevator shuddered to a halt and, with a ding, Petrel and Aquila followed the teal-haired Executive down the hall, eyes downcast. Workers stared at them with suspicion, eyes wide with utter shock at the fact Team Rocket was walking, two of them in uniform while Archer wore a black suit and red tie, down the hall of their workplace, stopping in front of their CEO's office. The older male, around Giovanni's age, opened the door with a wide smile, inviting them in with a curt bow. He took his seat in the large red chair behind a black desk, rolling his wrist to offer Archer the other chair. The Executive eyed it with suspicion before sitting very carefully, pressing his fingers together tightly. The tension in the room was tighter than the loaded guns tucked in the other two Executive's belts.

It was really simple: this old fucker wanted Team Rocket's assistance because his business was hitting a financial crises that would send the feds to his doorstep with a search warrant to infiltrate his banks, his home and his entire life's work to shut down a shady laundering operation, going so far as to ask Archer to call him on an anonymous phone and then only talking when the Executive _promised _he would destroy the phone the moment the call cut, even if the call was cut on accident. In return, Team Rocket would not only own the entire region's Pokemon black market, but a massive drug trade as well, even allowing the Rockets to relocate their drug facility to his mass-production unit. On top of that, he would allow his entire fleet of aircraft carriers to allot a space for en masse shipped drugs, which would mostly ship to an icy northern region to the west named Tiksi (which he swore, despite being nearly dead-empty, had a massive amount of buyers) and to parts of the regions surrounding Kalos and the west-most regions near Unova. In addition, he was to unload a huge chunk of his illegal cash onto Team Rocket to deal with.

Giovanni had taken weeks to decide on the offer, talking with Archer in privacy for hours. It was a very risky move indeed.

The older man looked at Aquila and Petrel's uniforms nervously, taking in the yellow strips down his uniform and the blood red stripes on her wide collar before he looked back at Archer, swallowing nervously. "What did your boss say?"

"He's in, but only if you comply to a few ground rules," Archer said coolly. Aquila could only begin to imagine that, between his semi-relaxed posture were the eyes of a sociopath. Intimidation was key.

"And those are..?"

"One, he will deal with your laundering issues on a one-way basis. You send the cash with us, and you will never see it again. We take care of the problem for you. Since you, evidently, don't want to deal with the government," Archer shifted in his seat, leaning back as the man did. He set his arms on the rests of the armchair, "we can handle your cash in a one-way agreement. Alternatively, we set you up with a frozen bank account in Kalos, a confidential bank where you cannot take money out or put money in for the next five years. After that point, you deal with the cash yourself."

"All right..."

"Two, we're declining your aircraft offer. Team Rocket refuses to deal with a middleman. Unless you want to offload some aircrafts to our cause, we are declining. Unless we get direct contact with these people in Tiksi, around Kalos and in Unova, we decline. And finally, we're far too wary of theft amongst your company." Aquila heard him chuckle darkly. The CEO's breath hitched.

"I understand."

"Three, we appreciate your drug production offer, but we decline that, as well. Again, theft amongst the members of your company are no laughing matter to Team Rocket. If a single Pokeyen worth of methamphetamine fell into the pocket of a single worker here, we would not be afraid to use strict violence against them. To keep your company safe, we decline. We are a crime syndicate, not a company that deals with police officers and petty theft lightly. You've been far too light on theft amongst your workers. Where you simply slap them on the wrist with a cruel look, we are not afraid to use brute torture to teach our ways." The CEO's breath hitched once more.

"Brutal torture?"

Archer reached into his pocket, pulling his Pokegear out. He held it forward, pressing play and, while it rolled, Aquila heard Proton's voice as he screamed, a loud thud and the gentle patter of blood not long after a loud _shing! _as he pulled his hunting knife blade out. Petrel winced slightly and she glanced at him, watching an expression dance over his face that told her he, too, had been in that situation before. Proton was ruthless, screaming out obscenities while throwing the prisoner into a set of bars, growling what he would do to them if they dared even mention his name one more time. She looked straight forward again, eyes staring at the wall.

"That's horrific!"

"That's how Team Rocket stays organised, sir," Archer put his Pokegear back into his pocket. "If members don't," the CEO slid his eyes between Aquila and Petrel, and she could feel his eyes burning holes into the scars on her face, "comply with our orders, we teach them to. Instead of slapping them on the wrist and telling them not to. The prison system," he chuckled darkly, "in this very country isn't much better, so instead of losing a valuable member for five years, we lose them for a month and they never say another word back to us."

The older man sighed, "I can comply to your ground rules." He pulled a cell phone out and hit a button, putting it on speaker. "Bring the stash."

Archer turned back in his chair when a man appeared, pushing forward a large safe on wheels. The CEO stood, putting the passcode in before putting the stash in individual, large suitcases very carefully. Archer sighed when he finally finished and Aquila could hear the faint traces of anxiousness underneath it. "One last thing," Archer breathed out. The CEO froze, looking back at him. "We'll send someone here every month for a fee. You _will _pay it, or we'll send the kid you just saw to rough you up. Otherwise, we will proceed to cut contact with you and your corporation altogether and take everything from you. Got it?"

"Yes," he replied in the most defeated tone Aquila had ever heard in her life. He continued packing up the money but picked up the pace as if Proton was with them and brandishing a knife in his face right at that moment.

"So, do we send your money down a drain, or do we relocate it to Kalos?" Archer asked, standing up finally.

"Dispose of it," the man said, his voice shaky with greed. "No, no, relocate it. Please."

"Fine. We'll send a member here in a month to pick up your fee and give you a letter with your bank account hidden between the lines. Remember, if you don't pay up, we will take everything from that bank account and proceed to crush you. Have a good day," Archer said, bowing slightly before moving his fingers as an order for Petrel and Aquila to follow. They grabbed the suitcases for him. "And mind you, if we don't send that kid, I'll send her. She's just as ruthless as he is." The CEO nodded, his jaw tight. "By the way, Mr. Higurashi, next time the government comes knocking your door down, you should probably tip off the International Police of your guys in Tiksi. They're your problem." With that, Archer led them out the door and down the hall.

When had Archer become such a ruthless badass?

* * *

"Petrel, we can sit here and chain smoke all night, but the sun's coming back around at some point," she sighed out, watching him light his fifth cigarette in a row.

"This is the last one, I _promise_," he grimaced.

"You know, darkness is _invaluable_, but it only lasts so-"

"I _know,_" he replied in an annoyed tone, "Aq, I'm fuckin' nervous. Last time there was a hit like this-"

"It's not going to turn out like that, Petrel. Goddamn, what did they do to you in interrogation?" He shot her a glance.

"How about you go and find out?"

"Look, that was cold, I'm sorry," she breathed out, "but it's already almost time for the sun to come up, in an hour, and you know we're going to need every second we can get."

He threw his cigarette off the brick building, watching the orange blip of light spin around before scattering into hundreds of embers upon impact. "Let's get this shit over with." He was the first to fly off on his jetpack, heading straight to their true target. She followed him, hearing the sudden whirl of helicopters from the woods and more jetpacks behind her as grunts followed them. While Petrel was worried, Aquila spun around in the air, feeling none of his stress. They had been working so well lately. An unstoppable duo, backed by an entire squadron of assassins and dealers. They landed, one after one, crowding the roof of the building while a lone hacker shoved through the crowd, finding the electrical box and popping it open with ease, holding a small pen-like device which promptly burned the lock off the metal box. With a grunt every time he was shocked, he snapped the cables, making a motion for the team to move before he flew off.

While Giovanni usually ordered them to get in and get out with as little violence as possible, this particular building was swarming with a group of people who had targeted the Boss, calling him on an anonymous number and threatening to out him as the leader of Team Rocket if he didn't get out of Johto. The recording was sent down the vine and someone had pinpointed his voice, word for word, in the hacking department, sending a single organisation name back up the chain. While Giovanni had, with a contorted smile, told them to kidnap the leader if possible, everyone else wasn't to be spared. It made a flurry of comments in base as people held their own rumours about it, grunts asking what happened, leaving the Executives to run around and get them to not only stop talking shit but to tell them to get prepared because they were coming along for the ride. All in all, it wasn't a hard mission, but the first mission where they were free to use any weapon they pleased and choose whatever force they pleased on anyone they pleased. Many of the grunts and Petrel, himself, held a machine gun in their hands.

Helicopters swarmed over the group, where in their doors stood two snipers a piece, and they piled down the stairs, not bothering to be quiet. The panic had already started the moment their power, and theirs alone in the huge city, had been suddenly cut, members of the organisation running from door to door to wake other members up before Aquila saw Petrel, with a hardened face of anxiety, pull his machine gun up and shoot them, picking them off with a silencer over his gun. It wasn't until they found the set of stairs that led all the way down the building that the group of grunts split up, a dozen per floor.

"We take sixteenth, get outta here," Petrel growled, pulling a grunt from the door and throwing her away.

"Sir-"

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off, we have sixteenth." Aquila followed him into the door, her fingers gripped around her scalpel.

Goddamn, this was going to be an easier job than she had even dreamt it would be. That was, until they heard a window open, a slow climb upwards. She whipped her knife backward in her hand, holding her arm in front of her as she jumped and shoved the door in with Petrel, just as a helicopter moved in on the building, a Nidoqueen looking in with a red, swirling orb of element in her gaping mouth. Giovanni smirked behind it, his face illuminated inside the helicopter. The two Executives froze, watching the scene. Gunfire and screams erupted on every floor and every room around them, which the man perched on the windowsill seemed to ignore. He was garbed in flowing cloth of purple and gold, his body unflinching.

"Ah, but it's too late, Mr. Biruritchi. If you want to live, I suggest you toss your Pokeball behind you." The man, with a long moment of hesitation, threw the Pokeball back. Petrel snatched it from the air before lighting a crumpled cigarette.

"Sakaki."

Proton moved forward, eyes glowing with lust as he licked his teeth. "Boss, how 'bout you let me have a go at 'im?"

"Sakaki, it's too late, the police are coming!" The man said, his voice high with hysteria. More of his comrades screamed, their screams falling silent with a tiny click as Rockets ambushed the building quicker.

Giovanni cackled, throwing his head back and petting his Nidoqueen, an order to hold her charge. "Biruritchi, we blacked out the entire area's system. The police will come, but when they do, you will be in a prison where you'll pray to Mew to see anything but your life spiralling down a drain in the floor."

There was an explosion from the west end, which only made the four Rockets flinch from aftershock, but made the man in a cloak of purple and gold fall off the windowsill and stagger back. "Wha-"

"That was my Executive's Zubat making quick work of your natural gas system, Biruritchi. You can die here, or you can come with us and die later, but," their Boss glanced back at Proton, where the fourteen year old was breathing heavily, his knife dancing between his fingers as his Zubat made its way back, flapping around his face, "I believe my High-Ranked Officer will be pretty upset if we don't bring you back. Nidoqueen."

The Pokemon threw her head back, roaring with power before swiping her head forward, sending the Earth Power to shatter the wall in front of them. Aquila and Petrel threw themselves behind a bookshelf, covering their faces with their arms as shrapnel flew across the room. Biruritchi was flung against a wall, slumping down it. "Aq!"

"Yeah, I see him," she walked towards him, tapping her surgical knife on her hand before she darted, pushing him against the wall before he made his way for the door, which opened itself as grunts poured in, their Pokemon flapping around their heads or walking behind them.

"Sir! We've cleared the fourteenth floor!"

"You're not going anywhere," she breathed. Proton jumped out of the helicopter, taking her place with lusty eyes.

"In fact, you're comin' with me. We're gonna have quite the day, tomorrow," he purred, putting his hunting knife to the man's neck. Aquila tossed a Pokeball in the air, releasing her Rhydon who smashed his hands together, staring down Proton's target. When Giovanni snapped his fingers, Rhydon dragged the man and threw him on the helicopter with Proton following him as he flew through the air.

"Sir! We've cleared the seventh floor!"

"Clear the rest of the floors, then leave no trace of what happened!" Giovanni shouted as they fell into salute. "You have half an hour!" They scrambled out of the room, making haste to help the stragglers who were having trouble as soon as the helicopter flew away from the opening in the wall. After they had finished killing off the last of the organisation, they quickly made way to find anything they could that would catch a flame easily. Of course, an _explosion_ is what they really wanted, but there was no such luck. The sound of a single siren made Aquila toss out her Haunter.

"Stalker, we need you to torch the place. _Hurry_," she watched the Haunter cackle before complying, floating down through the floor to do his task as they shot themselves out of windows, the grunts spinning and high-fiving in mid-air at the successful mission. She could tell that, for many of them, it had been their first mission ever and they looked back as they felt more heat at their back with a single Haunter floating towards them as the building was devoured under a blanket of flames. Aquila returned her Pokemon when he drifted close, watching the fire leap towards the sky. Heat made windows burst, sending shrapnel, shining under the light, towards the other side of the street.

Petrel grabbed her midair, tackling her, really, his face breaking into a wide smile. He was as excited as a grunt, his eyes dancing with glee. "Aq, that went fuckin' perfect!"

"I _told _you, there was nothing to worry about, Petrel. You were just too much a pussy to realise that," she sneered.

"Don't be a joykill, bitch," he pouted, tossing her away and crossing his arms. "Yeah, you were right, what? You want a fuckin' award for it?"

"Maybe some alcohol. Not vodka though," she retched from the thought, "something else. Anything else."

"Yeah, I might have some," he grinned devilishly.

"I'm not going in your flat," she replied, following him as he tore off towards base, spinning in the air as he did.

* * *

**A/N: When Boss Giovanni joins the battle, Alfonzo is in charge of the Headquarters.  
**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: There's a part of this that is inspired by a song. But, you know, I _really _can't help myself, this time. I don't own the song, or Pokemon. Might as well use two things I don't own~!**

* * *

Stumbling around, hitting walls, is not fun.

She slurred her speech, throwing her arm over Petrel's shoulder as he grabbed her hips, his face red as he pulled her bottom lip with his teeth, chuckling into her mouth when she sighed out, curving his body into the arch in his spine. Maybe Petrel had lost his feelings for her, and he couldn't remember anyway, because she was here and she was, _oh god_, her thigh had found the perfect spot and _oh god_ he could feel the heat radiating off her face as she grabbed the back of his head and slid her tongue over his teeth. He gasped out, launching his tongue into her invitation of war, hiking her body up on the wall to stop her thigh from continuing. There was so much fuckin' rum in his blood, and while a tiny part of his mind told him to stop because he would make a _grave_, horrible mistake that he would regret later, but at this rate, his mind was firing on all cylinders and _was that her hand? _He glanced down, his eyelids heavy with lust. Oh god, it was, Mew help him, her pale, thin hand rubbing his dick with the pressure her thigh had delivered.

There was no stopping him now, he opened the door, holding the Rocket so she wouldn't fall from the sudden lack of support. He pushed her back on his bed, continuing his assault of her body, his hands taking in every piece of flesh he could find under her uniform. Her drunken mewls pushed him on, her hands unzipping his arousal making him grind against her underwear in need. She returned it, moaning in ecstasy as she did. "P-Petrel... please," she groaned, grabbing his head and screeching with pleasure when he latched onto her nipple with his teeth, nibbling on it. He looked up at her, smiling darkly.

"Mmm, wha'? Didn't hear ya."

"Please!"

"Mmm, please wha'?" He swiped his tongue over her nipple, making her arch in pleasure.

"F-fuuuckk," she breathed, pulling his head back to kiss him again. They tore their uniforms off one another, eyes drunk and heavy-lidded with lust and alcohol.

"Mmmnn," he pulled his mouth away, throwing his head back as he thrust himself inside her, eliciting a loud moan of pleasure underneath him, along with a pleasured buck of her hips to meet his. Petrel was in heavy, sliding his hand from her breast to her neck, moving harder, baring his teeth from the moans that ripped through his own throat.

"Oh, o-oh Petrel, _please_," she twisted and turned, bucking her hips up towards him, faster and faster, as if she had more experience than she should.

"Nnngh, _Aquilaaa_," he breathed.

And like a fucking storm hitting an electronic, everything stopped. The girl underneath him stopped, staring at him with wide hazel eyes. He looked down at her as she opened her mouth and asked, "Aquila..?"

_Shit_.

He grimaced, slowing his hips to a halt and removing his hand from her neck, allowing her to scramble away, her eyes narrowed in anger. "Fuck _that_," she said, her voice shockingly crystal clear. He fell with his back on his bed, watching her ass sway with very mild interest, his hand on his dick, stroking it slowly as she dressed herself up.

"Yeah, wha'eversh, ge' out," he barked, watching her leave with a huff out the automatic sliding door. He sighed out, smacking his television's remote control a few times in frustration to find the porn, watching it just to prevent a serious case of the blue balls. A grave mistake indeed. Here he was now, giving himself pleasure instead of the human resources chick he'd roped in and, _hnngh_, he arched off the bed, leaning his head back as he finally relieved himself. Here he was now, sticky and alone. He grabbed his discarded boxers, cleaning himself off with a grimace.

Life could suck, sometimes.

* * *

Maybe alcohol was the worst idea ever.

She stood in Ilex Forest, _why was she here?, _no idea, but she was here, and there were trees, and she had managed to find herself a really fancy black-coloured blade and some asshole grunt who had gotten lost, or something, she couldn't remember. Not only that, but she had found herself one of those fancy lighters where the flame doesn't go out for _anything _and burnt _really hot._ And even better, she had a new plaything, some guy who stared at her, his back in a corner of a natural path as she encroached on him, eyes blurry with some deep feeling of lust.

Bloodlust. That was it, right?

Aquila was on the prowl, and she had found her target, and his knees were shaking and he looked _so delicious_. She moved in, knife in her dominant hand and lighter in her left hand. She had totally _scored_ this time, this guy was totally fucking scared. She licked her teeth, pressing her body against him in a way where he stopped shaking but still looked at her with a cautious look, unsure of her sudden advances. Well, that was, until she put the knife to his neck with enough pressure to stop her hands' shaking.

Oops, blood. That was okay. Was blood flammable? Hm.

She lit the flame, setting it against the blood, making him scream as it bubbled up. Apparently not. She looked up at him as he screamed, breathing out a pleasurable little sigh. This was what she _lived_ for, why wasn't she doing this more, again? She pressed her body against him, frowning. "Why aren't you pleased?"

"_What?!_"

She jammed her thigh against his crotch, her frown deepening. "You're not _pleased_," she pouted, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Get fucking pleased!" She slid the knife away, watching blood pour faster as his breathing rushed, his eyes wide.

"Bitch!" He cried, pulling his hands up to try and stem the bleeding. She growled, putting the flame to his hands. He moved them quickly and she smiled a content little smile.

"Good boy," she purred, placing the cold blade against his face. Her concentration was limitless as she designed a pretty little design into his cheek, holding the lighter on one side of his face so he would _quit fucking thrashing around_ for a minute. She was a fucking artist and his body was a canvas, but this idiot wasn't aware how special of a time it was. She leaned back, looking at her design with her teeth on her piercings. And he was gone, scrambling away from her after tripping over her knee. She cackled, grabbing him again and pulling him to her chest with her knife on his neck. "_Daniel has a psyche, that I crack. Daniel never leaaarns~_" she sang into his ear. He shivered violently. "_Don't wanna ransom 'cause there's not one thing anybody in this town can deliver~!_" She slammed him into a tree, setting his hair on fire, cackling as he shrieked and used his hands to put it out.

Still, it wasn't fun enough.

She let him go to drop and roll, taking in his shrieks with her shoulder low and the heat in her body situated between her legs as she watched him curl up afterwards. Oh, maybe Daniel did learn, because he didn't try to run this time. Aquila hoisted him up forcefully, her hand on his bleeding neck, looking at his face with curiosity. Tears. What were tears again? Her eyes went red and she felt her body press against his again. "You're _still _not pleased," she growled, slashing the front of his uniform open as she rubbed her thigh into his crotch.

Oh, there it was.

She purred in contentment, pressing the flat side of her knife to his chest as she made him aroused despite his condition and, when she saw his eyelids droop from 'very shocked' to a more neutral look, she began to carve into his chest slowly, her thigh still making the rounds. And, like that, it was gone and she growled, teeth grinding and vision blurred from anger. "You fucking idiot!" She roared, sending Hoothoot flying through the air suddenly, "and I was gonna let you live," she purred, running the tip of the knife up his ribcage before finding what she was looking for. She could no longer hear his screams and pleas to stop, not in any coherent way, but she knew she was getting something when her legs shifted from the odd feeling between them.

She breathed out, letting her head roll back when her knife slid between his ribs and, within seconds, he fell, unable to support his body without a working heart. She looked at his corpse, biting her lip as she stowed her new lighter and knife into her belt, watching the blood pour out of the wound in his chest. She smiled softly, sliding her fingers into her uniform to pleasure herself. There was no time to get back - she wouldn't remember well enough anyway. Her moans reverberated off the trees as she threw her head back, breathing in only to waste her laboured breath to moan. She fell to her knees when the pleasure became too much, hooking two fingers inside of herself. "Nnn, ahh..." she panted, finding the sweetest point of pleasure on her body. "Ohhh, _Petreellll_," she purred, a content smile coming to her lips, ushered in by a surge of pleasure.

Why, exactly, wasn't she doing this all the time?

* * *

"Fuckin' check that out," Petrel said, pointing out some miniature carnival in Goldenrod's Square. Somehow they had come back together, and Aquila had her ideas why, but she wasn't sure. Her _head_ hurt, and just turning it to look at this stupid fairground and all the lights and loud bullshit rolling off it wasn't helping. Hell, just moving her _eyes_ hurt like a bitch, but Petrel grabbed her wrist anyway, dragging her to grab a funnel cake.

Goddamn him. At least it _tasted _good. Which was really strange, because the grease that poured off it made her want to gag and vomit. This was not Chinese food grease, this was something on another level.

Somehow, she had let him persuade her that her first day off in weeks couldn't be spent sitting at home, nursing a headache after he kindly invited himself straight into her flat and inspected _everything_. What the hell did he think he was, anyway, coming into _her _flat, then bitching _her _out at noon over the fact she had, like, ten dishes, no bed and just enough food to get her to next pay cheque? Maybe if she wasn't in total pain, she would have been able to tell if he was concerned or if he was just busy being a total fucking asshole. And if he was _really _concerned, he would have stopped Archer from bitching her out two hours prior to his entrance about a lost grunt in Ilex Forest, and event that she could hardly remember, only able to associate him with a new knife, lighter and red, so he was probably just being Petrel, the Grade A Asshole.

Still, after he tossed a water bottle at her and the funnel cake, then passed her her favourite soda, maybe she was being too harsh, or maybe it was just her headache ebbing off, because he was as happy as a child on their birthday, surrounded by all the cheesy carnie music and lights and simply being alive, apparently. Or maybe she didn't get it, because the music was still too loud and it all looked really boring. It definitely wasn't her idea of fun.

Well, until he broke out the Hyper Potion, then things got a lot more fun. And it turned out, Petrel wasn't having fun from the stupid fairgrounds, he had much better thoughts, she found out, when he pulled out a set of spray paint cans and handed her the red one to his blue one. It took them no time, giggling all the way, to paint a miserable frown on some previously-happy clown ornament twenty metres in the air. Then they were off, giggling and trying not to snort her soda straight out of their noses and never quite getting a forgotten cigarette to their lips before another stream of laughing tears came round.

"We fuckin' slapped that slick smile right offa that smug fuckin', aaahhahaha, smile - _Oh I said smile and not **clown!**_" And they were tumbling over one another, trying not to fall, laughing once more.

"Smile!" Petrel cried out, holding his stomach as he roared with laughter. "You stupid-" he slapped her on the back, making her choke out another round of laughter from the tingly feeling.

"Ahaha, Petrel, do that again, ahaha, that _felt weird!_" She cried out and slapped him on the back, making him laugh and nearly stumble into a window, before he caught himself and righted his stance once more.

"That feels weird as _fuck!_" Which prompted the two to get into a slapping fight, ducking before they got hit in the face, their laughter dragging people to watch the two Executives smacking one another around and laughing. They stopped after a moment, heaving with laughter as the crowd chanted their "Fight! Fight! Fight! mantra. Petrel just grabbed her wrist, tearing through the crowd while skipping and giggling, down the street to find something new to do.

"_Smile!_" She burst out, making him stop mid-track, which made her stumble straight into his back. They fell onto the sidewalk, her laughing hard and Petrel groaning with pain.

"That wasn't weird, owww," he whined, shoving her off and standing. His back popped a few times and he grimaced, attempting to straighten it as much as he could. She looked up at him, mouth partially open, but the words to issue an apology never came.

High over.

They looked back over at their creation, a now-frowning clown with smeared red makeup and a stupidly obscured blue line down its ugly face that indicated a tear, with the words 'YOU'LL DIE ON THESE RIDES' on his outstretched arm. At least they could smile at _that_, because the fair-keepers were going fucking nuts over the graffiti, as elementary and stupid as it was. At least they had done something to spike the mood of the carnival into the ground, with its annoying music and lights. They turned away from it, making their way down the gold street of Goldenrod. Petrel had to use her for support and she grunted as he stopped to let his spine pop again.

"You okay?" She asked quietly.

"Yeah," he replied, but his tone was a whine that told her otherwise.

She frowned, watching him as he arched his back, trying desperately to reconfigure it into place. "Hey, you want to see if anyone else is off...?"

"Like who?" Petrel asked before gritting his teeth as he finally got the exact, ear-splitting pop he wanted. He sighed in relief, twisting his spine.

"Err, who's off?"

"Well, Proton was _supposed _to be off, but with Bi... Bir... that bitch from last night, I'm pretty sure he's already in the prisons. And Ariana's always busy with Silver." With a pause, he sighed, "and Archer's borin' as fuck."

"No shit," Aquila whined as they made their way down the road. "Well, the Hyper Potion's gone and we can't just up and smoke here," and yet she pulled a cigarette out, but Petrel knew exactly what she really meant, "so, the mood's been killed. What do we do now?"

Her partner sighed, slumping over as he looked around the city. "For such a big city there's not much excitement," his purple eyes skated to and fro, trying to find another thing to do. When he failed, he sighed again, pulling his own cigarette out to suck on. Really, Aquila knew the problem, deep down: they weren't drunk, at all, no less enough to forget that they spent most of their time working; they weren't touchy enough to go back to one of their flats on base and get to cuddling; and they were now born-and-bred workaholics. One of those criteria needed to be met, but neither of them had the desire to bring out alcohol again after just having nursed a blistering hangover, nor the balls of steel to try and get touchy with the other... and they couldn't ask Giovanni for more work, lest he pile work on them at the ridiculous rate he had before he cut her load recently.

Aquila sighed at her revelation. "Maybe we should just go see what Proton is up to."

"What? 'Nd watch that horny bastard cut up some guy? No thanks," he grumbled, stopping to peer at a set of television displays. Aquila craned her neck, feeling an eyebrow crawl up her forehead as she watched with him.

"_And there's not a single lead to the murder of the late Police Chief Kobayashi?_"

"_Of course, we have Team Rocket, but with no actual evidence. This was only a few hours after her speech on them... and if it had been them, she would have reacted quickly._"

"_So Team Rocket is out of the question?_"

"_Well, no... but yes. They're our only lead, every sign of them is here, including the knife wounds, but there isn't a single trace of Team Rocket otherwise. We've marked the crime syndicate off the crime at this point._"

"_I see..._"

Slow news day, Aquila could tell. They had almost forgotten about the death of her mother, in the past months, the whole crime going from talked about constantly in the media, to trickling to slow news days when nothing really happened other than the weather and maybe the stocks, or something. She chuckled darkly, seeing the image of her mother flash up on the screen, before her death. Old and withered and _wiped out by her own daughter_. If the media could even know _that_, they would have a total field day. Her entire disappearance from years before had been a total success - never once, even in the immediate outcry, had they mentioned the tragic disappearance of the younger Kobayashi. She had succeeded in brainwashing the entire _country_ that she had never existed. And never in her life had she felt so successful.

Maybe that was why she was an Executive now. Now if she could use that same feeling to spur her into doing things that would benefit her in other ways, she'd actually get something important done.

"Those idiots will never figure it out," Petrel started. "Police in this country are worthless." She chuckled, listening to him talk like a civilian.

"Of course not, they never figure out anything," and with that, they were gone, walking down the street to find something to do, finally deciding to give the shaft to their previous hangovers and get started early, wandering into a pub not far from the gym. It was most certainly not their fun little Rocket inlet they were used to - the music wasn't quite as hard and the people around them gave them strange looks over the evening as they rolled their sleeves up and showed their tattoos to onlookers as the alcohol heated them up. Petrel had recently, apparently, added ink, a montage of carefully placed smoke and his party of five Koffing and one Weezing that curled down his entire arm, and she had inspected it with blurry interest before smacking a few Pokeyen notes on the table they were situated at, screeching for another round of rum - Petrel's choice - for his 'glorious new tattoo' she had called it.

And that was how she found herself in his flat the next day, her skirt hiked up and a pool of drool on his couch while her arm hung off the side. Aquila's eyes cracked open slowly, taking in the interior, as basic as it was, and it was only Petrel's loud cackle that told her where she was. She groaned, pulling her skirt down when he made a comment. She rolled her eyes - bad mistake, she found out as she moaned in agony and a shot of lightning ran through her vision - before she tilted her head upward to look at him in the dim lighting. Well, at least she hadn't killed someone this time. At least, Petrel looked quite alive with no scars that weren't there before. That was good.

She dragged herself up slowly, staring at Petrel's bare back as he wandered back to his kitchenette in a ridiculous pair of neon green pyjama pants that were patterned with Grimer and Muk. He returned with his glass bowl, much larger than the one they had previously shared and a couple of mugs full of decently scorching hot cocoa.

She burnt her tongue, but that was all right. It was always all right when Petrel, throwing himself down beside her, breathed out a content little sigh.

* * *

**A/N: I'll slap that slick, smug smile off that motherfucker - don't wanna ransom 'cause there's not one thing anybody in this town can deliver! Daniel striped tiger rubs the noses that you snap, Daniel never learns. So Daniel tender tiger has a psyche that you crack, Daniel never learns. Gonna take out a big fucking blowtorch, ACETYLENE! ACETYLENE! ACETYLENE! Platypus, don't stop psychoanalysing me! **

**This song is really weird.**

**Short chapter, but a fun one~**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: Hope you enjoyed that almost porn last chapter. Really hope Game Freak doesn't get all upset that I totally made Petrel into a temporary porn star.**

* * *

How Aquila ended up moving _in_, however, was a feat of Petrel's ridiculous charm that she _didn't _understand. Being roped in by alcohol to spend the night and show her bare ass to him, sure, she got that; moving in after two more weeks of missions, she did not understand. Some of their touchiness was back, always blatant but never daring, a little 'accidental' scrape here or there, where they would side-glance to gauge the other's shiver of secretive pleasure. And then they would dance around one another, perhaps with, throwing one another around on missions and never quite feeling complete while the other wasn't there on their individual duties, but never admitting that openly, even to themselves.

The games had started, a silent war that erupted in Petrel's penthouse flat. They would dodge one another when they had eye contact then suddenly dive for the chance to have physical contact when they were _sure _the other didn't notice. Mission touching was not the same - except in one mission where they had hidden in a closet, chest-to-chest, breathing heavily as a police officer walked right past them - but for the most part, it was necessary and harsh, a need to survive, rather than the soft touching they did in his flat. Their Pokemon would watch on with curiosity at their unfolding scenes. Thermite and Tephryte, of course, cuddling to spite them, it felt like, their intimacy showing their inner emotions on display as they nuzzled each other's hard cheeks and chortled at the two of them on the couch, relaxed and yet rigid as they awaited the next round of their secret little game.

And Archer found it totally ridiculous, blatantly commenting when they would brush shoulders and shiver, or brush hands that they should find a room and go fuck in it.

How she had gotten there was a total mystery to Aquila, considering she had been so willing to comply when Petrel kindly reminded her that she was going to be totally boned if Giovanni came into Johto and wanted to set up a second home there. She had expected to put up some resistance, then his fingers went down her cheek in a playful way and he invited her over and _his flat smelt so fucking good_, with all the shit he had that she couldn't afford and she swore to herself that he had brushed himself against her. Her weak knees hadn't lied, and she had finally agreed to his _stupid _request that she just move in and accept that one day she'd be kicked out of her own (much tinier) penthouse.

But hey, they totally had two couches now, which they never used, because if they did, the games would be off for the night, and who wanted that, right? He had tried to move the couch into his spare room, but, taking pity on his creaking back, she had shrugged and told him it'd be fine, and that the compartmental, cubicle look was really suiting for the fact they were workaholics, a fact he chuckled at with an almost pathetic sort of tone of agreement. And there were two televisions! Another thing they never really used and was already collecting a healthy layer of dust on the floor in the second bedroom. Aww, yeah.

Perhaps the best part was that Petrel was kind enough to bring her stash of drugs to her when her dealing stash grew low, so she no longer had to meet up with him all the way in Mahogany, though a small part of her was a bit disappointed she couldn't continue those games when he was the most vulnerable.

Needless to say, they enjoyed watching one another shiver and listening to their breath hitch.

And maybe it was strange, Aquila had realised when she was dealing one night, watching people closely around her, because normal adults seemed to fall into relationships _so easily_, their games being blatant and no longer so much of secretive games but something else. Something that appeared more tangible and real. But Aquila didn't understand that, either. So she continued her games, pushing Petrel to make the first move while he pushed her do to the very same, only for each night to end up in a stalemate where they silently swore to only pause for a few hours to continue their games the next late night they saw one another.

Even fucking _paperwork _was becoming a chore, with the two constantly vying for one another's attention in the smallest motions. And Aquila was almost disheartened to realise, after two weeks, that her partner was definitely not dragging in girls from the hall. It meant their game wasn't just a silent shout, but something _real_, that Petrel had, once again, abandoned his antics in favour of roping her in once more. But there was an air of fear above the excitement, a sense that if they tried again, the same horrible fate would happen again, in an endless cycle, never leaving them in peace. Still, they didn't let it deter them, like excited preteens in their own little world by night and like the Executives they were supposed to be by day.

It was all absolutely ridiculous and maybe they knew that, but, just like the fear that there would be a cycle, it never deterred them. They played their game even in the medical wing between patients.

Actually, they knew it was ridiculous. But it was _fun__, _kind of like drinking Hyper Potions.

And greasy Chinese food and horrible romantic comedies were never any better in Aquila's experience, as when Petrel had her pulled close - all bets to who would crack first off due to his _insistence _that the other couch basically become a guest couch only - to where her head was rest on his chest, hearing his heart and breathing change with the scenes in the film. One time they fell asleep, only to wake up in a compromised position, an uncomfortable one at that, that only made them realise that their unconscious bodies had gotten far more intimate than they had ever during their awake state. They had scrambled away from one another, a deep flush on their faces as they did so.

Yet here they were, throwing each other around a battlefield without a single shiver, another run-in with the police. They really seemed to be on their game, these cops, cracking down more and more in the Johto region, despite their lack of experience. A few grunts were already arrested placing their bombs, but the police had nothing in the air-games that Team Rocket had pulled together. And they had nothing when a few scouts aimed their sights at them. Just when Aquila would move in for her own kill, she'd just as soon have to jump back to avoid a ricocheting sniper rifle bullet that hit her target. Even Proton had come out of his hidey hole for the occasion, a speedy little whirl of green that darted to and fro with a distorted face of blood lust quite unlike the scouts in the helicopters who had blank, almost melancholic, faces as they aimed their sights.

Goldenrod was nothing but Team Rocket's playground, a battlefield of destruction and orderly chaos, if such a thing could exist.

She felt her arm jerk as Petrel grabbed her and slung her backwards, making another police officer miss his target. Everything was so muted, her thoughts, her hearing, her sight and Aquila felt herself breathe in a heavy breath behind her respirator as the helicopters dropped their care package, a huge number of poison gas bombs that exploded on impact, filling the air with a light pink gas that made the officers immediately cough. It was something of Petrel's invention, and while he was unsure of it, it seemed to work, making the cops fall to their knees in their coughing fits.

She and Proton moved in to clean off the helpless survivors, their eyes hidden behind dark goggles and gas that billowed around the square. Aquila watched Proton with mild interest, if only for a moment, taking in his jerky movements that told her he was enjoying his kills a bit too much, taking them slowly and carefully, putting away his hunting knife for more physical contact. She could see him shudder in sickening pleasure as he snapped their necks, promising them that he'd help them breathe the smoke away.

Proton was completely _fucked up._ She shuddered in disgust, sticking to a tried and true method of knifing them. Then again, she could feel the twisting feeling working in her lower stomach. Maybe she was as fucked up as him, but less obvious with more experience. He almost cradled the coughing, resisting officers in his hands before he jerked their necks effortlessly to snap their spinal cord. His body language did all the work for her to show her his psychology. No, he was definitely more fucked up than she could dream of being. He didn't get off from the sight of blood, he got off from the pure act of murder. Then again, from the way Petrel had adamantly turned from their actions, he most certainly thought of them as one and the same.

It was an easy task, when they finally infiltrated the television studio. Grunts ran forward to cut the power on cameras, their face obscured by gas masks, and sometimes they would threaten someone with a shake of their gun in their direction, but, overall, it was easy to get the building under heavy lock down. Grunts poured in from every direction, from the roof's entrance, the fire escape entrances and the ground floor entrances, using their bodies to barricade locked doors further. Aquila, Proton and Petrel, however, darted up the stairs, ignoring the other groups of grunts who spent their time pulling people back as hostages, using their Pokemon to do some of the dirty work for them.

"Sir!" Proton shouted, falling into salute when they were at the top floor. Archer looked at him with a grim expression as Petrel moved between pulled cameras and rows of computers with interest, poking at them to find what he was looking for. Aquila fell in line on the row of computers on the other side of the room.

"There were no escapes?" Archer asked calmly, but his expression was of stress and anxiety. Proton ripped off his gas mask and the two Executives followed suit.

"No, sir," he said.

"Found the video," Petrel said suddenly, situating himself in front of a four-monitor display. The greenette nodded, moving towards the camera he was in charge of.

"Found audio," Aquila murmured after a moment.

"Good, let's get this over with, the police are already coming," Archer replied, kicking a chair away from the desk in the news room. He moved the remaining chair to the middle before using his arm to discard the papers on the desk. A pair of grunts came into the room, snapping to salute, right after he situated himself and rolled his sleeves up, revealing the bottoms of his blue tattoos of Dragonair.

"Sir! We have everyone under hostage, no interruptions!" One of them shouted.

"Barricade the door," he said calmly before clenching his jaw. Aquila breathed in with anticipation. This was the beginning of something new, a new age of Team Rocket, and who better to convince the public they weren't a sight to be frightened by than Archer?

"Camera is rolling."

"I see video."

"Microphone is on."

"I see audio."

"Are you ready?" Petrel asked, his hand hovering just above an 'On Air' button. Archer cleared his throat and nodded, and the Executive tapped the button with slight hesitation.

Archer had what was possibly the most charming smile in Team Rocket, behind Giovanni himself. It was pleasant and breathed nerves in them out of the room, despite his calculating eyes. It was no wonder that their boss had planted Archer the head of the Johto branch - if Silver wasn't up to snuff and Ariana couldn't manage, they all knew the teal-haired Executive was the next in line for the leader seat. This was his moment (of course, it was also Proton's moment - he rose through the ranks quickly and Aquila knew this was his biggest test yet for his next rank) and he relished in it, his voice calm and tinged with some sort of emotion that was foreign to Aquila.

"Hello, Johto, good evening," he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Are you shocked? ...Surprised? You shouldn't be. We won't keep your newscasters for long, of course, we just wanted to send our fellow citizens a message." There was a momentary pause, likely to let the news spread and for televisions to tune in, Aquila wasn't sure. "We wanted to make _you _feel comfortable, viewer, that Team Rocket isn't here to harm you, we're not here to hurt you. That Team Rocket can coexist and lead to no problems." Archer lifted his other hand, placing a number of white pieces of paper on the table before leaning back and holding them up. "We wanted to give back, for such little obtrusion as we've had. These are individual checks to every Pokemon Centre in the region, worth one billion Pokeyen each, from Team Rocket to you. And remember..." he leaned forward, "Team Rocket can be one of your family members, your employers, your friends. We're all around you."

Just as he finished, there was a slam against the door and a scream and the four of them looked towards it for a brief moment before Petrel reached to hit the 'On Air' button, only to be flung back from the aftermath of the explosion. Aquila cringed at his groan of pain as his back straightened against the wall, his head rolling forward on his neck and, without a thought, she made way over the rubble of the shattered door to stand in front of him, her pistol pulled out. Proton moaned in pain, pulling himself up off the floor. "Police!"

Archer stood, eyes full of malice as he threw his Pokeball, letting his Houndoom out. The canine stood stiffly, mouth full of fire. Proton, likewise, sent his Golbat out as Aquila grabbed Petrel, pulling him away from the immediate line of fire. "_Don't move!_" One of the officers ordered. She glared at him, her teeth grit together as she pulled him behind her.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Why had no one _told _them? Where were the fucking _grunts?_ She glared at the officers. The grunts had been there, but the police had beat them at their own game. Their numbers had decreased that day, she knew. The police had learnt their little game - move slowly, use silencers and take them out, floor-by-floor. Why had _Boss _not told them that Kanto's fleet were catching onto their tactics? She made a mental note to inform him that, indeed, the police were actually _getting smart_. She ground her teeth together.

"Now, now," Archer murmured calmly. "You shoot one of my comrades," the police poured in, "and you've caused a very, very severe problem. Not for us, mind."

The officer chuckled, "like all your other comrades?" She could feel Petrel's neck crane to see the damage done, but it was a hopeless venture, they were far away from where they could see out the demolished door.

"Those weren't my _comrades_," he replied calmly. Houndoom snorted. "It seems you feel you have us cornered. Think again." Aggron screamed as she was released, stomping the ground in front of the other three. The tiles around them shattered. "You have two options," an officer cackled and they heard the simultaneous clicks of hammers on their pistols, "you let us go, or we see to it that we wipe your fleet out like we did with your friends."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes," and all of his charm was back, the genuine-appearing smile and calm exterior. There was a pop as Monoxide floated onto the scene, but Aquila could still hear Petrel's suppressed whimpers of pain as he pulled his own pistol out, following Archer as he levelled his own pistol. The room was painfully silent for a long moment, with everyone's arms outstretched, guns pointed to every head in the room. Time stretched for what felt like hours as they stared their targets down, but none of the Rockets would let themselves shake with fear, standing just as strong as the uniformed officers. It seemed as if everyone was making up their minds: the officers, to let the group of four go so they could go home and eat dinner with their families because, after all, they had already gotten a huge crowd of Team Rocket members anyway, and the group of Executives and one High-Ranking Officer over what their next course of action would be, where, exactly, they would move to dodge gunfire when everywhere in the room was a dead zone.

It was all they needed, Aquila found out, when the wall behind Archer exploded as suddenly as the door had, sending bullets flying from shock as the officers all aimed at him the moment he moved into action and dived for the desk, dragging Proton with him, shoving his body over the teenager's. Aquila shoved herself against Aggron, pulling Petrel closer to her as she did to let the beast take the bullets with roars of agony. They shielded their faces with their arms at the explosion, hissing as shrapnel hit their arms. "Let's go!" Archer roared, pulling Proton with him as he boarded the helicopter.

There wasn't time to react. She heard the sound of a hollow metal object hit the floor.

_Ting, ting._

She moved Petrel to the middle, peering out with her right hand grabbing Aggron's shoulder spike to peer at whatever had hit the tiles, only to hear bullets aimed towards her and the sounds of scrambling. She pulled on the spike to get leverage. Then she saw a flash of light, heard a loud sound that left nothing but ringing in her ears, blocking everything else out but the feel of wind hitting her body before feeling her left arm tugged at following a crush and a sharp stab on her lower stomach.

There was pain, there was _agony_, she saw red.

Then everything was black.

* * *

**A/N: Then everything was cliffhanger.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Then everything was _disclaimer_. Hey, just how many everythings can there be? Well, let me answer your question with a question: how many parallel universes are there, again?  
**

* * *

She swore she could hear angels singing, or something. She could see his face, bright and high with his lopsided smile and the straight line of purple spikes on his head he had ditched for flattening it and his facial hair the way she liked it, right before he would scratch at it irritably and shave off the scruffy sides of his cheeks leading off his beard, when it was the right mix of ticklish on her face and fingers and yet rough enough to make her shiver with pleasure. It was an awesome day to be alive, if that was _him _singing, because she had never heard him sing, and the voice was so beautiful and yet so _filled with pain_, and suddenly, like a light switch his face cracked and was gone in a flash of light.

But it was never him singing and never him there, _never_, and, Mew, the aftershock of morphine was such a powerful feeling, a powerful feeling she wished she could enjoy in the most masochistic of ways, if only because then she would at least be able to relish in such a feeling instead of have to deal with it for every come-down. If only the fall from the high of morphine was the pleasurable pain of watching someone bleed out, but it wasn't. Her eyes strained to stay still and sweat broke out and she wanted to scream, oh Mew, she _really _wanted to scream, but it was a scream that hadn't come for months. And yet, she knew she would pump herself full of the shit if it meant this horrid feeling, this clammy, empty feeling would just _go away_.

But at least she could move the heavy metal that rest on her right shoulder, if only to claw at her other shoulder and shred the skin into bleeding, to centralise the pain, only for Aggron to tear the very sensitive metal away and hold her arm away from her own self-destruction while looking away from her owner's contorted face. The big metal beast would hold her so she didn't crush her own bone, so she didn't tear her flesh down to the bone, then draw her up with the metal apparatus attached to her shoulder and draw her into an almost motherly hug.

It was never him singing.

She wanted him to sing and make this pain dissipate.

But it was never him singing.

And he had taken her morphine stash away with a sideways glance, his guilt not wanting to show through gritted teeth and tears and pure, unadulterated _anger_ while he chuckled ever so softly, his lips parting just enough to whisper a tiny little joke before fleeing with the morphine he had thought would help her but only caused her so much agony. For months she had taken the syringes and hidden them, only for him to find them with a disappointed look and a tiny sigh. For months had hell broken loose in their flat as she argued and screamed her way into getting another stash of the delectable fluid that numbed her mind and pain and let her fight through physical therapy - physical therapy that Giovanni had clearly stated put Aquila and Petrel out of commission, although he still sent them, albeit tiny, pay cheques so they could fight through and come out as good of Executives as they had before.

And she was so damned close to being there, being another Rocket in the crowd, her shiny metal arm of steel and wires hidden underneath a uniform and glove. Her nineteenth birthday and Petrel's twenty-third birthday had come and gone in a whirlwind of melancholy. She had chosen to lock herself in his guest bedroom, starving the day away as she laid on the floor and stared at her new arm and whatever she had become in the past decade; not that Team Rocket was a bad choice, no, she was pleased with her _choice_, it was all she knew. But she had laid in a deep depression upon the floor, realising that the things she had done in the past decade that had once been so dramatic - the murder of the traitorous children, the murder of Dvina, all of her deep-seated hacking - were no longer so dramatic, just trials in her life that were long forgotten, just like her actual name in the media, or her disappearance at all. In the end it had never meant much at all. To the adult Aquila, it was nothing but things that had simply _happened_. It was very hard for her to imagine her younger self being excited for such events at all, any longer.

When Petrel was far gone that night, never disturbing her moment of silence, she had ventured out from the flat for the first time to find a target, a very peculiar target, a grunt she had targeted and knew from his very freely open computer that he was a sadist, too, with no chance to launch through the ranks like Proton had. A deadbeat man with red hair and green eyes, and the eyes weren't quite the right shade, but at first she had pleasured him, let him indulge in his deep-seated cravings. A cut here, a cut there, some choking, a lot of biting, in his own flat. He was slow, very artistic and careful in his cuts and slices, eyes dancing over her body as she laid rigid as she had on Petrel's floor. It was all very peculiar, and she had only found herself come alive when he crawled on top of her, his mouth shining with saliva around his knife and eyes filled with desire and she had arched her back to appeal to him, her metal hand finding its way to his spine to run a single finger up it, which had made him delightfully shiver and sigh out as he caught the knife in his dominant hand.

And it wasn't like she hadn't wanted it, when he found her entrance and shoved his bare fingers inside her to feel her, hell, she had actually shivered and sighed in pleasure herself. They moved in a simultaneous rhythm once he made his real way inside her after a frenzied, aggressive attack against her with his teeth and tongue as he ripped his uniform off. It was a mostly silent time, barring a throat-ripping moan they would share whenever his teeth would find her skin again, meeting one another's movements from their own self-interest in where it was all going, but then she had turned, grappling for his knife when he was deep within her, thrusting his hips quickly. She had pulled his head down, pressing his throat against the width of his knife and everything had stopped. Self-interest had stopped (his, at least, she continued to move her hips on him) and she had grinned, whispering to him that it was her turn, a little sadomasochist's turn, before slitting his throat and feeling his body go limp as he bled out on her quickly. Still, she had relished in the feeling, her natural hand finding its way between them as she closed her eyes and flung her head back, arching upwards as she pleasured herself under his pool of blood.

At least she had had a _nice _birthday.

It was sometime after that, that she and Petrel had stirred their games up again, the ghostly touching and tagging game that they held solace in. Every touch eliciting a nice little shiver or sigh, continuing their little game into the next few months like childish teenagers who didn't know any better. Still, it had only been some time before she found herself lusty - for sex and maybe blood, she wasn't sure what for anymore - and she had to find her own release, but she had already made her own inner pact that, no, she wouldn't betray the little something of trust she was sure Petrel had that she wasn't quite the slut of many of the other Rockets. It was only a matter of time before she got more aggressive in their little game, and so did he, almost as if unaware that he was suddenly breaking barriers that he likely couldn't have dreamed of breaking at some point.

But then it had all crashed around them as they realised her arm was as good as it was ever going to get - no more physical training would really help her be as precise as she was already. A long year had passed since Aggron had impaled her, since Aggron had saved her life by thrusting her spikes into the wall so her back spike didn't sever her in two and since the grenade Archer had thrown had severed her arm from its socket. A long year had passed since the initial agony had happened. And they were reluctant to tell Giovanni that her arm was working as good as it would ever - while not as precise as a natural arm, no amount of simple physical therapy could hone the skills of real life - if only so they could continue their aggressive games and almost-but-not-quite fucking game that had erupted from their lust.

Of course, Petrel was as ridiculously sweet as ever, barring the whole morphine addiction incident. He was never aggressive in the way the red-headed grunt had been, but rather a sort of primal aggression, harsh nails and teeth mixed with sweet words and soft eyes. A compound of lust with his ever-sweet nature, where he would more often touch her in the softest of ways and apologise with a soft tone that he hadn't been fast enough a year ago that slowly turned into a primal aggression, only to stop himself from not getting direct verbal agreement, though he had long since stopped his act of pacing off her actions.

Still, they had realised that it was best to get back to work, before Archer stopped in and she made a movement that would tip the teal-haired off that they were a bit past physical therapy any longer. And thus, they were _there _again, as much as the place brought both of them bad memories - her for the pain and agony and him for the guilt and sorrow - staring down the large tower with it's large antenna, broadcasting to the region that had, as Giovanni had claimed, at least, accepted Team Rocket without much of a hitch after watching some form of police brutality spread like wildfire. All of that was carefully planned by Archer, but it was good enough.

They wore their uniforms freely, standing on a roof to stare at the television tower. The four Executives who could slide through the streets without much more than a single glance. Leaders of Johto. Archer was, apparently, sliding through politicians, handing them off money to keep their mouths sealed about Team Rocket. Proton had matured another year, ranked up once more since the year prior, with a hardened face and a pair of eyes that no longer hid his psychopathy. Petrel and Aquila, rusty as they were, stood on either side of the pair, who were _perhaps _a little too close to be simply _comrades_, but the two on the outside never brought it up. Proton was a year shy of half Archer's age, but who really knew, when Ariana and Giovanni were so far apart and yet had a child of their own, as well.

Really, they _did _know, because the pair played the _same game _as they did, brushing hands here and there, and Proton was far too immature to actually _hide_ his emotions, always shivering just slightly when it happened, which would make Petrel chuckle at him. Archer would just appear oblivious to the two. Aquila watched with mild interest. Archer was a really, really cold game player. At least Petrel would _smirk_, the teal-haired Executive didn't make a single motion to show he was fully aware he was torturing the kid, or maybe he was too distracted with the mission at hand.

"Archer, we have a back-up plan that _doesn't_ involve explosions, right?" Petrel asked, his voice full of jest. Archer shot him a look.

"If you attached that arm, right, Petrel, you wouldn't have a need to ask." _Ouch, _right in the heart. The other Executive just rolled his eyes, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Yeah, you'll be sayin' that until that arm flies in your direction," he replied grimly.

"Arch, head's up," yeah, Proton was really bad at this game, "cops are guarding the building."

"I saw that," Archer murmured, looking at the entrance of their target. The group crowded around him to crane their necks. "We'll fall back for now."

"What are we, scouts?" Proton hissed irritably. "We can do thi-"

"No, we can't. There's no telling how many of them are buzzing around that hornet's nest."

"We can do _something_," Petrel said with a sly grin, his eyes working upwards to the antenna on the roof. "Come on, _Arch_," the man in question growled at him, "we can totally knock that antenna off."

"We aren't school children."

"Oh, lighten up, would you? Fine, Archer, you go play with Proton or something, we haven't been on the field in a year, come on, Petrel," she said, hopping off the building. He followed her, activating his jet pack as soon as he did. The other two Executives headed off towards the base, leaving them to their childish antics.

It was a lot harder than they had expected, plucking that antenna off. Even at the highest point, it took both of them hacking at it with knives before it severed and they flew off, giggling like, well, school children, trading the antenna back and forth to swing it through the air with a loud _whoosh _sound. "You know what would be funner than this? This with a _hyper potion,_" Petrel said quickly as they landed on the street in front of their base.

"Yesss, you go get it, I'm going to let Aggron find some scrap metal," she said, letting the Pokemon out. Petrel ditched his jet pack with her, running off to find the department store while grappling for his wallet to check if he had Pokeyen. Aggron, however, quickly launched herself at a car, chewing on the tail-end of it after hiking it up off its back end. People around them stared at the Pokemon, unable to be good Samaritans and tell off the Executive, with her collar buttoned up around her face, to get her Pokemon to knock it off. She watched Thermite in boredom, eyelids growing heavy with the feeling.

Maybe she should have went with Petrel, too.

She swished the antenna around in the air a few times before staring at it until Petrel came back, spinning the potion in his fingers and catching it. "You know how easy it would be to get addicted to this shit? Real easy. You can buy 'em in bulk," he said, cringing lightly as Aggron finished her dinner with a loud screech as the car disappeared down her throat. "Bitches don't even _know_ how fun this shit is, or it'd be one of those watched items." Aquila returned the steel Pokemon to it's Pokeball.

"Yeah, well, trainers or something, let's go." She didn't need to say it twice; they raced into the base, shoving themselves into the elevator and pressing the button to the top floor multiple times to get it to _go faster_. When they landed, they quickly scurried to their flat as Petrel popped the top of the potion off, tossing it behind him for someone else to deal with.

Hyper Potion really _did _make everything better. The purple-haired Executive quickly snapped a broomstick in half to duke it out with her (as she refused to let go of the antenna) in the flat, making their rounds into all of the rooms as they swished their weapons at one another, laughing when they got cornered and then darting away by making the other double over first to lose their guard.

"H-hey, hey," she crammed herself up into the corner, staring down at him on top of the cabinet over the stove, "hey," she chuckled, "this isn't fair."

"Ahaha, life isn't fair, sweetheart," he purred, eyelids drooped. His grin was lopsided, bursts of laughter breaking through it. He lifted himself onto the counter, pushing the broomstick to her neck. "I win," he sang, leaning in close. "What's my prize, ahaha, gonna find out."

"'Ey, hey, Petrel, ahaha, this isn't the most comfortable, ahh, place to be," she chuckled, feeling the broomstick press ever closer into her trachea. "Er, Petrel?"

"Hm?" He looked at her through dilated pupils, chuckling as her expression turned to confusion. "Well, I get a prize for capturin' an Executive," he said in a sing-song tone.

"Petrel," she sighed as he pressed the stick in just hard enough to make her shiver.

"Hm?"

"Petrel, let me go."

"Not without my _prize_, Aq."

"Well, I don't have anything for you," she chuckled quietly, although she could feel her high dissolving by his sudden close proximity. Or maybe Hyper Potion also had a side effect of 'horny' after 'happy', because she was definitely feeling _that_. More likely the stick, though.

"I think you do," he purred, and then he grabbed the antenna from her loosened grip and hopped down, holding both up. "_Fuckin' come at me now!_" She laughed, watching him try, and fail, at dual-wielding while being shit-faced on a Hyper Potion.

"I got a _metal arm_," she reminded him, tapping her fingers down on the cabinet to make a loud echo sound. "I think I can take you," she hopped down, pulling her gloves off. They fought for a little longer before she grabbed both the weapons, using them to move his arms and leaned in, holding the weapons behind her. "Think I got you," she sang. He chuckled.

"Looks like it." Then she took the weapons, baring her teeth.

"Good luck, Petrel," she spun them in her hands, holding them at stance. She had gotten _pretty good _at using her left hand lately, all considering. It was still uncoordinated, but at least she made a better effort than he had, but still, he was taller and stronger, and he chased her through the flat, over couches and tables until cornering her, grabbing her wrists with a loud 'aha!' before pinning them above her head, shoving her into the corner with his weight.

She could feel the blood rush to her face, but honestly, she didn't care, and neither did he, it appeared, as he looked at her, mouth slightly open as he panted from the effort. It wasn't long before the potion made its decision and he crushed his lips against hers with an aggression she hadn't expected, feeling his hands move her wrists together so he could hold them in one hand. His other hand made its way to cup her face as she pushed back against his lips.

Maybe it was the combination of hyper potion and a pent up need, because she whined when he broke away, looking at her and panting gentle, his hand, free of a pair of discarded gloves from their little 'fight', running over her cheek. His eyes searched her body before moving back to her face and she groaned, pulling against his wrists, desperately wanting to grab his uniform and pull him forward again, but he didn't give in, smiling a malicious grin and 'tch'ing between his teeth.

Well, he _had _won. She chuckled softly, looking away at the television that was building up dust and the otherwise empty room, before gasping as he bent over, running his lips over her neck.

Fuck, maybe she had won and not him, considering the way that, once he found a spot that made her shiver and unconsciously arch, he bit down, sinking his teeth into her skin before sucking on it, his hand on her face dropping to drag her into a deeper arch against him. If she hadn't wanted it so bad, she _might _have felt the pain in her spine, but as it was, she couldn't feel anything but the feeling of his teeth dragging down her skin to shove her uniform away and find another sweet spot on her shoulder.

Thank _Mew _she had a uniform to cover up all the future bruises.

Still, after a moment he tore away, his grip loosening up on her and she groaned in disappointment, cracking an eye to meet his furrowed brow and look of anger as he stared at the old scars on her collarbone, tracing them with a finger that had forgotten that he was holding her wrists for a reason. His touch was dangerously light as he did so. "Petrel," she breathed. Aquila's intention had been, of course, to snap him back into doing what he had been doing, but it didn't seem to work. "Petrel..." He glanced up at her before pulling her into an embrace, warm and comforting, as if the scars had suddenly snapped open again and all the trauma was back. She sighed softly as he buried his face in her hair, dropping the temporary weapons on the floor to hug him back.

Just how many times would some little thing on her body make him snap? She didn't know, and she really didn't want to find out, and she was _still really horny_, unable to quite understand why he stopped as if all motivation had been sapped just from seeing the cuts on her collarbones. It wasn't even the worst ones, she knew, but, well, they _did _have some unpleasant scarring, unlike the others off of bone. She just hoped he'd snap out of it soon enough, and if he didn't, she was going to _force _him to. She really was, as much as she would never admit it to Petrel, getting tired of just the games.

"Petrel," she whispered again. His throat rumbled out a soft 'hm?' before she smiled, pulling her head away to bite at his earlobe. "Don't feel so bad, it's done and over with," she breathed, feeling his jaw shake. He tilted his head back before tilting it away slightly.

"Aq-ahhh." She pushed him back slowly, starting him towards the entrance to the living room. There was no way she was going to get him to his room - too far away and his door was closed anyway - but she could at least use the couch. Still, it didn't take too much time before he growled, lifting her up and doing the job for her, shoving her harshly into his door and shoving her up it, his primitive growls making her shiver. All the heat in her body situated in two spots, although most of it found its way to her face.

"Petrel, _please_," she whispered, looking up at him as he seemed to make his decision. She could see him grit his teeth before he pressed his lips to hers again, sliding his tongue in when she sighed out. She fought back, feeling him grab her so he could open his door then shove it closed again with his boot, only breaking out of their game to drop her on the bed and climb on top of her, his breathing ragged.

"Aq, I swear," he panted out as she grabbed his uniform in desperation, desperate for him not to call it off but to _finally..._. Petrel smiled, a sweet, lopsided smile, "hyper potion makes _everything _work out." With that thought out of his head, he slipped his gloves off slowly, taking in her frame as he did so. A fleeting thought ran across her mind that Petrel already knew what was below her uniform - how else had he worked on her arm? But when his bare hand slid up her thigh, the thought scattered with his patient motion to shove her legs out of the way as his nails dug into the flesh.

_Fuck _Petrel was good at this - not that she hadn't expected him to be - but he seemed to apply just the right teasing amount of pain to make her squirm at every nibble and grab of her skin. And while she felt herself wanting to hide her body from him when he leaned back, panting and looking over her, he never let her, his hands holding her in place. Every single scar seemed to grab his attention, every bone that desperately seemed to want to escape from her flesh. She tilted her head away to stop watching his gaze, before she returned her own to his torso, taking in his deep breathing. He was just as thin, his ribs showing under lithe muscle. Still, she maneuvered her body to grab at his trousers, only to be met with the faintest of chuckles as he grabbed her wrists and held them with a tight grip, moving into action to hold them above her.

"Nah, I know you," he hissed. She looked up at him with curiosity, but he never explained what it was he _knew_ before he removed his own belt and trousers, shoving his waist against hers. Smiling, she found herself rubbing against his arousal, an act that elicited a response she was all too familiar with, where he pulled his shoulders up and dug his nails into her wrists and side and tilted his head back, although this time, he moved his hips in agreement, his purple eyes darting over the ceiling as if it had some answer to a question in his head.

* * *

Petrel had waited far, far too long for this. His head was delightfully clear (although he had figured the first time they would fuck would be in a drunken stupor, it wasn't the case at all - they were both definitely sober) and her body twitching under him was all he'd wanted for fucking _years_, but it was finally time. She wasn't recoiling, she no longer seemed at all repulsed by his touch. Everything had led up to that moment and _oh Mew_, he didn't even _give a damn _how she seemed to have experience under her belt, nor did he care when he had to calmly correct a subtle motion she made from a slight _lack _of experience.

He growled, looking down at her after a moment before he pulled himself away to pull his boxers off quickly, only to watch her rusty eyes skate downwards to look in a place she had never been able to see before, just as he had when he had unclothed her.

He let out the most haughty and husky chuckle he could manage, pressing his arousal to her entrance before pulling back and running a nail around it. "That'd be too easy," he purred, and the very sound of his voice, he knew, made her whimper and writhe underneath him, her eyes half-lidded with lust.

"Petrel, _please_," she repeated for the second time, and he chuckled again, leaning over her.

"Please?"

"Please... don't..." How _cute_, she seriously thought for an instant that he would walk away now. Petrel laughed softly, almost in sync with the throbbing feeling in his dick. Oh, no, he had no need to back out. Still, he knew it would be over quickly - it was always over quickly after abstaining for _so long_, and masturbation wasn't _quite _the same as actual sex - but he needed to hear more of her whimpers, he needed to see her face contort more in pleasure. He wanted her to scream her name out and claw at his back in pleasure.

Or something. He could never predict the scratchers from the non-scratchers.

He rubbed against her slowly, finally letting her wrists go to run his hands down her neck, an act that made him smile and her shiver, before running them down over her breasts and sides. What shocked him, however, was after a moment, when she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down, crashing their lips together in another display of sudden dominance. He smiled against her, pulling away after a moment and, when she groaned in need, he pushed his erection against her clit, making her shudder and moan.

Oh, she was going to be an easy one. He chuckled, watching her eyes fill with even more need, watching her chest heave as she breathed harder. She let go of him, arching off the bed, her eyes closed and throat forcing out whimpers of pleasure as he moved his fingers, much quicker and accurate, to do the job. From there, it was an easy job and, just as she arched off the bed and grabbed his arms, he got exactly what he wanted, shoving himself inside of her as she moaned his name out, her nails and the sharp metal digging into his arms.

Still, it was almost _too _much. He had to pull out after a moment and, without much thought, he grabbed her up and shoved her over, and _Mew_, even that was making her whimper, it was _too much_ for him. He growled, pulling her back end into the air as she grabbed the bars on his headboard and pushed back against him. _Fuck_. He grabbed her ass, pushing himself back in and ran his nails down her back, grabbing onto her sides when she moaned his name, moving her hips to meet his and ducking her head to peer at the body looming over her.

"Petreeeel, nnnn, Pe... aaahh," she whined, and he groaned when she shifted her arm to pleasure herself in the same way he had, feeling her inside clench when she did. No, _that _was too much and he shoved himself away, pulling himself out when he felt her shudder before he could come inside her.

"Aquilaaa," he breathed, watching her slide down onto the bed, her body a twitching mess. _Fuck_. He grabbed his forgotten boxers, cleaning her off, albeit a bit lacking in the _effort_ department, before collapsing beside her.

There was always something _adorable _about a girl who would immediately cuddle up to him after fucking, but it was just a bit more adorable when the girl was a known sociopath whose blush still hadn't quite gone away, with sheepish rusty eyes. He chuckled, pulling her close, letting her hide her face into his neck as if out of embarrassment. Her body was still trembling, as if still in aftershock. "Well?"

"Ehh?" Even her voice was ragged. The poor girl had _no _energy left.

"Was it good?"

"Mmm." He laughed softly, running his fingers through her hair while he grappled on his side table for his pack of cigarettes, pulling one out. Aquila peered up at it before closing her eyes again, a sign he took as her very clearly not wanting it.

"You don't know what you're missin', sweetheart," he said, lighting it up. It was for naught, however, as, when he looked back down at her, he could tell she was already asleep.

* * *

**A/N: Told you it wasn't long before the porn.**


End file.
